Jfci.  j-jM^ifXfi-  i^S#S%  A"^ 


■S. 


5'i'^C 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/daysofauldlangsyOOmacl 


THE   DAYS   OF   AULD   LANG   SYNE 


BOOKS  B  Y  JOHN  WA  TSON,  D.D. 

(IAN  ]\IACLAREN) 

BESIDE  THE  BONNIE  BRIER  BUSH 
THE  DAYS  OF  AULD  LANG  SYNE 

A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

With  Illustrations  by  F.  C.  Gordon 

THE  UPPER  ROOM 

THE  MIND  OF  THE  MASTER 

KATE  CARNEGIE 
With  Illustrations  by  F.  C.  Gordon 

THE  CURE  OF  SOULS 

Lectures  on  Preaching  at  Yale  University,  1896 


THE    DAYS 


OF 


AULD  LANG  Syne 


BY 

IAN    MACLAREN 


New  York 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 

1896 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
John  Watson 

Copyright,  1895,  bv 

DoDD,  Mead  &  Company 

Alt  Rights  Reserved 


BURR  PRrNTING  HOUSE,   NEW  YORK. 


S     ■~': 


a 


L  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  MOTHER 


CONTENTS 


I.  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY, 

n.  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE: 
A  Country  Tyrant,    . 
The  Endless  Choice, 

A  DiSPLENISHING  SaLE, 

The  Appeal  to  Caesar, 
The  Replenishing  of  Burn 


BRAE, 

III.  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT, 

IV.  DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY  : 

Drumsheugh's  Fireside, 
Drumsheugh's  Secret, 
Drumsheugh's  Reward, 


V.   PAST  REDEMPTION 

VI.  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY, 


PAGE 

3 


25 

45 
63 
82 
99 


141 

159 
174 

193 

217 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

VII.  JAMIE: 

A  Nippy  Tongue, 241 

A  Cynic's  End, 259 

VIII.  A  SERVANT  LASS  : 

How  She  Went  Out, 279 

How  She  Came  Home,         ....  297 

IX.   MILTON'S  CONVERSION,  .         ,        .         .  323 

X.  OOR  LANG  HAME, 347 


A  TRIUMPH    IN    DIPLOMACY 


A  TRIUMPH    IN  DIPLOMACY 

Farms  were  held  on  lease  in  Drumtochty, 
and  according  to  a  good  old  custom  descended 
from  father  to  son,  so  that  some  of  the  farmers' 
forbears  had  been  tenants  as  long  as  Lord  Kil- 
spindie's  ancestors  had  been  owners.  If  a 
family  died  out,  then  a  successor  from  foreign 
parts  had  to  be  introduced,  and  it  was  in  this 
way  Milton  made  his  appearance  and  scandal- 
ised the  Glen  with  a  new  religion.  It  hap- 
pened also  in  our  time  that  Gormack,  having 
quarrelled  with  the  factor  about  a  feeding  byre 
he  wanted  built,  flung  up  his  lease  in  a  huff, 
and  it  was  taken  at  an  enormous  increase  by  a 
guileless  tradesman  from  Muirtown,  who  had 
made  his  money  by  selling  "  pigs"  (crockery- 
ware),  and  believed  that  agriculture  came  by 
inspiration.  Optimists  expected  that  his  cash 
might  last  for  two  years,  but  pessimists  de- 
clared their  belief  that  a  year  would  see  the 
end  of  the  "  merchant's"  experiment,  and  Gor- 


4  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 

mack   watched    the    course    of   events    from  a 
hired  house  at  Kildrummie. 

Jamie  Soutar  used  to  give  him  "  a  cry"  on 
his  way  to  the  station,  and  brought  him  the 
latest  news. 

"  It's  maybe  juist  as  weel  that  ye  retired  frae 
business,  Gormack,  for  the  auld  fairm's  that 
spruced  up  ye  wud  hardly  ken  it  wes  the  same 
place. 

"  The  merchant's  put  ventilators  intae  the 
feedin'  byre,  and  he's  speakin'  aboot  glass  win- 
dows tae  keep  the  stots  frae  wearyin',  an'  as 
for  inventions,  the  place  is  fair  scatted  up  wi' 
them.  There's  ain  that  took  me  awfu' ;  it's  for 
peelin'  the  neeps  tae  mak  them  tasty  for  the 
cattle  beasts. 

"  Ye  hed  nae  method,  man,  and  a'  dinna  be- 
lieve ye  hed  an  inspection  a'  the  years  ye  were 
at  Gormack.  Noo,  the  merchant  is  up  at  half 
eicht,  and  gaes  ower  the  hale  steadin'  wi'  Rob- 
bie Duff  at  his  heels,  him  'at  he's  got  for  idle 
grieve,  an'  he  tries  the  corners  wi'  his  handker- 
chief tae  see  that  there's  nae  stoor  (dust). 

"  It  wud  dae  ye  gude  tae  see  his  library ; 
the  laist  day  I  saw  him  he  wes  readin'  a  book 
on  *  Comparative  Agriculture  '  afore  his  door, 


A  TRIUMPH   IN  DIPLOMACY  5 

and  he  explained  hoo  they  grow  the  maize  in 
Sooth  Ameriky;  it  wes  verra  interestin' ;  a' 
never  got  as  muckle  information  frae  ony 
fairmer  in  Drumtochty." 

"  A'm  gled  ye  cam  in,  Jamie,"  was  all 
Gormack  said,  "  for  I  wes  near  takin'  this 
hoose  on  a  three-year  lease.  Ae  year  'ill  be 
eneuch  noo,  a'm  thinkin'." 

Within  eighteen  months  of  his  removal 
Gormack  was  again  in  possession  at  the  old 
rent,  and  with  a  rebate  for  the  first  year  to 
compensate  him  for  the  merchant's  improve- 
ments. 

'*  It  'ill  tak  the  feck  o*  twa  years,"  he  ex- 
plained in  the  kirkyard,  "  tae  bring  the  place 
roond  an'  pit  the  auld  face  on  it. 

"  The  byres  are  nae  better  than  a  pair  o' 
fanners  wi'  wind,  and  if  he  hesna  planted  the 
laighfield  wi'  berry  bushes ;  an'  a've  seen  the 
barley  fifty-five  pund  wecht  in  that  very  field. 

"  It's  a  doonricht  sin  tae  abuse  the  land  like 
yon,  but  it  'ill  be  a  lesson,  neeburs,  an'  a'm  no 
expeckin'  anither  pig  merchant  'ill  get  a  fairm 
in  Drumtochty." 

This  incident  raised  Gormack  into  a  histori- 
cal personage,  and  invested  him  with  an  associ- 


6  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 

ation  of  humour  for  the  rest  of  his  Hfe,  so  that 
when  conversation  languished  in  the  tliira 
some  one  would  ask  Gormack  "  what  he  hed 
dune  wi'  his  ventilators,"  or  "  hoo  the  berry 
hairst  wes  shapin'  this  year." 

One  could  not  expect  a  comedy  of  this  kind 
twice  in  a  generation,  but  the  arranging  of  a 
lease  was  always  an  event  of  the  first  order  in 
our  commonwealth,  and  afforded  fine  play  for 
every  resource  of  diplomacy.  The  two  con- 
tracting parties  were  the  factor,  who  spent  his 
days  in  defending  his  chief's  property  from  the 
predatory  instincts  of  enterprising  farmers,  and 
knew  every  move  of  the  game,  a  man  of 
shrewd  experience,  imperturbable  good  hu- 
mour, and  many  wiles,  and  on  the  other  side, 
a  farmer  whose  wits  had  been  sharpened  by 
the  Shorter  Catechism  since  he  was  a  boy, — 
with  the  Glen  as  judges.  Farms  were  not  put 
in  the  Advertiser  on  this  estate,  and  thrown 
open  to  the  public  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  so 
that  there  was  little  risk  of  the  tenant  losing 
his  home.  Neither  did  the  adjustment  of  rent 
give  serious  trouble,  as  the  fair  value  of  every 
farm,  down  to  the  bit  of  hill  above  the  arable 
land  and  the  strips  of  natural  grass  along  the 


A  TRIUMPH   IN  DIPLOMACY  7 

burns,  was  known  to  a  pound.  There  were 
skirmishes  over  the  rent,  of  course,  but  the 
battle-ground  was  the  number  of  improvements 
which  the  tenant  could  wring  from  the  land- 
lord at  the  making  of  the  lease.  Had  a  tenant 
been  in  danger  of  eviction,  then  the  Glen  had 
risen  in  arms,  as  it  did  in  the  case  of  Burnbrae ; 
but  this  was  a  harmless  trial  of  strength  which 
the  Glen  watched  with  critical  impartiality. 
The  game  was  played  slowly  between  seed- 
time and  harvest,  and  each  move  was  reported 
in  the  kirkyard.  Its  value  was  appreciated  at 
once,  and  although  there  was  greater  satisfac- 
tion when  a  neighbour  won,  yet  any  successful 
stroke  of  the  factor's  was  keenly  enjoyed — the 
beaten  party  himself  conceding  its  cleverness. 
When  the  factor  so  manipulated  the  conditions 
of  draining  Netherton's  meadow  land  that 
Netherton  had  to  pay  for  the  tiles,  the  kirk- 
yard chuckled,  and  Netherton  admitted  next 
market  that  the  factor  "  wes  a  lad" — meaning 
a  compliment  to  his  sharpness,  for  all  things 
were  fair  in  this  war — and  when  Drumsheugh 
involved  the  same  factor  in  so  many  different 
and  unconnected  promises  of  repairs  that  it 
was   found   cheaper  in  the   end  to  build  him  a 


8  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 

new  steading,  the  fathers  had  no  bounds  to 
their  dehght ;  and  Whinnie,  who  took  an  hour 
longer  than  any  other  man  to  get  a  proper 
hold  of  anything,  suddenly  slapped  his  leg  in 
the  middle  of  the  sermon. 

No  genuine  Scotchman  ever  thought  the  less 
of  a  neighbour  because  he  could  drive  a  hard 
bargain,  and  any  sign  of  weakness  in  such  en- 
counters exposed  a  man  to  special  contempt 
in  our  community.  No  mercy  was  shown  to 
one  who  did  not  pay  the  last  farthing  when  a 
bargain  had  been  made,  but  there  was  little  re- 
spect for  the  man  who  did  not  secure  the  same 
farthing  when  the  bargain  was  being  made.  If 
a  Drumtochty  farmer  had  allowed  his  potatoes 
to  go  to  "  Piggie"  Walker  at  that  simple-minded 
merchant's  first  offer,  instead  of  keeping  "  Pig- 
gie" all  day  and  screwing  him  up  ten  shillings 
an  acre  every  second  hour,  we  would  have 
shaken  our  heads  over  him  as  if  he  had  been 
drinking,  and  the  well-known  fact  that  Drums- 
heugh  had  worsted  dealers  from  far  and  near 
at  Muirtown  market  for  a  generation  was  not 
his  least  solid  claim  on  our  respect.  When 
Mrs.  Macfadyen  allowed  it  to  ooze  out  in  the 
Kildrummie  train  that  she  had  obtained  a  penny 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY  9 

above  the  market  price  for  her  butter,  she  re- 
ceived a  tribute  of  silent  admiration,  broken 
only  by  an  emphatic  "  Sail"  from  Hillocks, 
while  Drumsheugh  expressed  himself  freely  on 
ihe  way  up  : 

"  Elspeth  's  an  able  wumman ;  there  's  no  a 
slack  bit  aboot  her.  She  wud  get  her  meat 
frae  among  ither  fouks'  feet." 

There  never  lived  a  more  modest  or  unassum- 
ing people,  but  the  horse  couper  that  tried  to 
play  upon  their  simplicity  did  not  boast  after- 
wards, and  no  one  was  known  to  grow  rich  on 
his  dealings  with  Drumtochty. 

This  genius  for  bargaining  was  of  course  seen 
to  most  advantage  in  the  affair  of  a  lease ;  and 
a  year  ahead,  long  before  lease  had  been  men- 
tioned, a  "  cannie"  man  like  Hillocks  would  be 
preparing  for  the  campaign.  Broken  panes  of 
glass  in  the  stable  were  stuffed  with  straw  after 
a  very  generous  fashion  ;  cracks  in  a  byre  door 
were  clouted  over  with  large  pieces  of  white 
wood  ;  rickety  palings  were  ostentatiously  sup- 
ported ;  and  the  interior  of  Hillocks'  house 
suggested  hard-working  and  cleanly  poverty 
struggling  to  cover  the  defects  of  a  hovel. 
Neighbours  dropping  in  during  those  days  found 


lo  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 

Hillocks  wandering  about  with  a  hammer,  put- 
ting in  a  nail  here  and  a  nail  there,  or  on  the 
top  of  the  barn  trying  to  make  it  water-tight 
before  winter,  with  the  air  of  one  stopping 
leaks  in  the  hope  of  keeping  the  ship  afloat  till 
she  reaches  port.  But  he  made  no  complaint, 
and  had  an  air  of  forced  cheerfulness. 

"  Na,  na,  yir  no  interruptin'  me  ;  a  'm  rael 
gled  tae  see  ye ;  a'  wes  juist  doin'  what  a'  cud 
tae  keep  things  thegither. 

"An  auld  buildin  's  a  sair  trachle,  an'  yir  feared 
tae  meddle  wi  't,  for  ye  micht  bring  it  doon 
aboot  yir  ears. 

"  But  it 's  no  reasonable  tae  expeck  it  tae  last 
for  ever  ;  it 's  dune  weel  and  served  its  time  ;  a* 
mind  it  as  snod  a  steadin'  as  ye  wud  wish  tae 
see,  when  a'  wes  a  laddie  saxty  year  past. 

"  Come  in  tae  the  hoose,  and  we  'ill  see  what 
the  gude  wife  lies  in  her  cupboard.  Come  what 
may,  the  'ill  aye  be  a  drop  for  a  freend  as  lang  as 
a  'm  leevin." 

"  Dinna  put  yir  hat  there,  for  the  plaister  *s 
been  fallin',  an'  it  micht  white  it  ;  come  ower 
here  frae  the  window ;  it 's  no  very  fast,  and  the 
wind  comes  in  at  the  holes.  Man,  it 's  a  pleesure 
tae  see  ye,  an'  here  's  yir  gude  health." 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY         ii 

When  Hillocks  went  abroad  to  kirk  or  market 
he  made  a  brave  endeavour  to  conceal  his  de- 
pression, but  it  was  less  than  successful. 

"  Yon  's  no  a  bad  show  o'  aits  ye  hae  in  the 
wast  park  the  year,  Hillocks ;  a  'm  thinkin' 
the  'ill  buke  weel." 

"  Their  lukes  are  the  best  o'  them,  Netherton  ; 
they  're  thin  on  the  grund  an'  sma'  in  the  head, 
but  a*  cudna  expeck  better,  for  the  land  's  fair 
worn  oot ;  it  wes  a  gude  fairm  aince,  wi'  maybe 
thirty  stacks  in  the  yaird  every  hairst,  and  noo 
a  *m  no  lookin'  for  mair  than  twenty  the  year." 

"  Weel,  there  's  nae  mistak  aboot  yir  neeps,  at 
ony  rate  ;  ye  canna  see  a  dreel  noo." 

"  That  wes  guano,  Netherton  ;  a'  hed  tae  dae 
something  tae  get  an  ootcome  wi'  ae  crap,  at 
ony  rate  ;  we  maun  get  the  rent  some  road,  ye 
ken,  and  pay  oor  just  debts." 

Hillocks  conveyed  the  impression  that  he 
was  gaining  a  bare  existence,  but  that  he  could 
not  maintain  the  fight  for  more  than  a  year,  and 
the  third  became  thoughtful. 

"  Div  ye  mind,  Netherton."  inquired  Drums- 
heugh  on  his  way  from  Muirtown  station  to 
the  market,  "  hoo  mony  years  Hillocks's  'tack' 
(lease)  hes  tae  rin  ?" 


12  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 

"  No  abune  twa  or  three  at  maist ;  a  'm  no 
sure  if  he  hes  as  muckle." 

"It 's  oot  Martinmas  a  year  as  sure  yir  stannin* 
there ;  he  's  an  auld  farrant  (far-seeing)  lad, 
Hillocks." 

It  was  known  within  a  week  that  Hillocks 
was  setting  things  in  order  for  the  battle. 

The  shrewdest  people  have  some  weak  point, 
and  Drumtochty  was  subject  to  the  delusion 
that  old  Peter  Robertson,  the  land  steward,  had 
an  immense  back-stairs  influence  with  the  factor 
and  his  lordship.  No  one  could  affirm  that 
Peter  had  ever  said  as  much,  but  he  never  de- 
nied it,  not  having  been  born  in  Drumtochty  in 
vain.  He  had  a  habit  of  detaching  himself 
from  the  fathers  and  looking  in  an  abstracted 
Avay  over  the  wall  when  they  were  discussing 
the  factor  or  the  prospects  of  a  lease,  which  was 
more  than  words,  and  indeed  was  equal  to  a 
small  annual  income. 

"  Ye  ken  mair  o'  this  than  ony  o'  us,  a  'm 
thinkin',  Peter,  if  ye  cud  open  yir  mooth  ;  they 
say  naebody's  word  gaes  farther  wi'  his  lord- 
ship." 

"  There  's  some  fouk  say  a  lot  of  havers, 
Drumsheugh,  an'  it  \s  no  a'  true  yc  hear,"  and 


A  TRIUMPH   IN  DIPLOMACY  13 

after  a  pause  Peter  would  purse  his  lips  and 
nod.  "  A  'm  no  at  leeberty  tae  speak,  an'  ye 
maunna  press  me." 

When  he  disappeared  into  the  kirk  his  very 
gait  was  full  of  mystery,  and  the  fathers  seem- 
ed to  see  his  lordship  and  Peter  sitting  in  coun- 
cil for  nights  together. 

"  Didna  a'  tell  ye,  neeburs  ?"  said  Drums- 
heugh  triumphantly  ;  "  ye  'ill  no  gae  far  wrang 
gin  ye  hae  Peter  on  yir  side." 

Hillocks  held  this  faith,  and  added  works 
also,  for  he  compassed  Peter  with  observances 
all  the  critical  year,  although  the  word  lease 
never  passed  between  them. 

"  Ye  wud  be  the  better  o'  new  seed,  Peter," 
Hillocks  remarked  casually,  as  he  came  on  the 
land  steward  busy  in  his  potato  patch.  "  A  've 
some  kidneys  a'  dinna  ken  what  tae  dae  wi'  ; 
a  '11  send  ye  up  a  bag." 

"  It  's  rael  kind  o'  ye,  Hillocks,  but  ye  were 
aye  neeburly." 

"  Dinna  speak  o't  ;  that  's  naething  atween 
auld  neeburs.  Man,  ye  micht  gie  's  a  look  in 
when  yir  passin'  on  yir  trokes.  The  gude  wife 
hes  some  graund  eggs  for  setting." 

It   was   considered   a   happy   device   to  get 


14        A   TRIUMPH    IN    DIPLOMACY 

Peter  to  the  spot,  and  Hillocks's  management 
of  the  visit  was  a  work  of  art. 

"  Maister  Robertson  wud  maybe  like  tae  see 
thae  kebbocks  (cheeses)  yir  sending  aff  tae 
Muirtovm,  gude  wife,  afore  we  hae  oor  tea. 

"  We  canna  get  intae  the  granary  the  richt 
way,  for  the  stair  is  no  chancy  noo,  an'  it 
wudna  dae  tae  hae  an  accident  wi'  his  lord- 
ship's land  steward,"  and  Hillocks  exchanged 
boxes  over  the  soothing  words. 

''  We  'ill  get  through  the  corn-room,  but 
Losh  sake,  tak  care  ye  dinna  trip  in  the  holes 
o'  the  floor.  A'  canna  mend  mair  at  it,  an'  it 's 
scandalous  for  wastin'  the  grain. 

"  It  's  no  sae  bad  a  granary  if  we  hedna  tae 
keep  the  horses'  hay  in  it,  for  want  o'  a  richt 
loft. 

"  Man,  there  's  times  in  winter  a  'm  at  ma 
wits'  end  wi'  a'  the  cattle  in  aboot,  an'  naethin' 
for  them  but  an  open  reed  (court),  an'  the  wife 
raging  for  a  calves'  byre  ;  but  that  's  no  what 
we  cam  here  for,  tae  haver  aboot  the  steadin'." 

"  Ay,  they  're  bonnie  kebbocks,  and  when 
yir  crops  fail,  ye  're  gled  eneuch  tae  get  a  pund 
or  twa  oot  o'  the  milk." 

And    if   his    Lordship    had    ever   dreamt    of 


A   TRIUMPH    IN    DIPLOMACY         15 

taking  Peter's  evidence,  it  would  have  gone  to 
show  that  Hillocks's  steading  was  a  disgrace 
to  the  property. 

J I  any  one  could  inveigle  Lord  Kilspindie 
himself  to  visit  a  farm  within  sight  of  the  new 
lease,  he  had  some  reason  for  congratulation, 
and  his  lordship,  who  was  not  ignorant  of  such 
devices,  used  to  avoid  farms  at  such  times  with 
carefulness.  But  he  was  sometimes  ofT  his 
guard,  and  when  Mrs.  Macfadyen  met  him  by 
accident  at  the  foot  of  her  garden  and  invited 
him  to  rest,  he  was  caught  by  the  lure  of  her 
conversation,  and  turned  aside  with  a  friend  to 
hear  again  the  story  of  Mr.  Pittendriegh's  goat. 

"  Well,  how  have  you  been,  Mrs.  Macfadyen, 
as  young  as  ever,  I  see,  eh  ?  And  how  many 
new  stories  have  you  got  for  me  ?  But,  bless 
my  soul,  what  's  this?"  and  his  lordship  might 
well  be  astonished  at  the  sight. 

Upon  the  gravel  walk  outside  the  door, 
Elspeth  had  placed  in  a  row  all  her  kitchen 
and  parlour  chairs,  and  on  each  stood  a  big 
dish  of  milk,  while  a  varied  covering  for  this 
open-air  dairy  had  been  extemporised  out  of 
Jeems'  Sabbath  umbrella,  a  tea-tray,  a  copy  of 
the  Advertiser,  and  a  picture  of  the  battle  of 


x6         A    TRIUMPH    IN    DIPLOMACY 

Waterloo  Elspeth  had  bought  from  a  packman. 
It  was  an  amazing  spectacle,  and  one  not 
lightly  to  be  forgotten. 

"  A  'm  clean  ashamed  that  ye  sud  hae  seen 
sic  an  exhibition,  ma  lord,  and  gin  a  'd  hed  time 
it  wud  hae  been  cleared  awa'. 

"  Ye  see  oor  dairy  's  that  sma'  and  close  that 
a'  daurna  keep  the  mulk  in  't  a'  the  het  days, 
an'  sae  a'  aye  gie  it  an  airin'  ;  a'  wud  keep  it  in 
anither  place,  but  there  's  barely  room  for  the 
bairns  an'  oorsels." 

Then  Elspeth  apologised  for  speaking  about 
household  affairs  to  his  lordship,  and  delighted 
him  with  all  the  gossip  of  the  district,  told  in 
her  best  style,  and  three  new  stories,  till  he 
promised  to  build  her  a  dairy  and  a  bed-room 
for  Elsie,  to  repair  the  byres,  and  renew  the 
lease  at  the  old  terms. 

Elspeth  said  so  at  least  to  the  factor,  and 
when  he  inquired  concerning  the  truth  of  this 
foolish  concession,  Kilspindie  laughed,  and  de- 
clared that  if  he  had  sat  longer  he  might  have 
had  to  rebuild  the  whole  place. 

As  Hillocks  could  not  expect  any  help  from 
personal  fascinations,  he  had  to  depend  on  his 
own  sagacity,  and  after  he  had  laboured  for  six 


A   TRIUMPH    IN    DIPLOMACY         17 

months  creating  an  atmosphere,  operations 
began  one  day  at  Muirtown  market.  The 
factor  and  he  happened  to  meet  by  the  merest 
accident,  and  laid  the  first  parallels. 

"  Man,  Hillocks,  is  that  you  ?  I  hevna  seen 
ye  since  last  rent  time.  I  hear  ye  're  githering 
the  bawbees  thegither  as  usual  ;  ye  'ill  be  buy- 
ing a  farm  o'  yir  own  soon." 

"  Nae  fear  o'  that,  Maister  Leslie  ;  it 's  a*  we 
can  dae  tae  get  a  livan' ;  we're  juist  fechtin* 
awa' ;  but  it  comes  harder  on  me  noo  that  a  'm 
gettin'  on  in  years." 

"  Toots,  nonsense,  ye  're  makin'  a  hundred 
clear  off  that  farm  if  ye  mak  a  penny,"  and 
then,  as  a  sudden  thought,  "  When  is  your  tack 
out  ?  it  canna  hae  lang  tae  run." 

"  Weel,"  said  Hillocks,  as  if  the  matter  had 
quite  escaped  him  also,  "  a'  believe  ye  're  richt ; 
it  dis  rin  oot  this  verra  Martinmas." 

"Ye 'ill  need  tae  be  thinkin'.  Hillocks,  what 
rise  ye  can  offer ;  his  lordship  'ill  be  expeckin' 
fifty  pund  at  the  least." 

Hillocks  laughed  aloud,  as  if  the  factor  had 
made  a  successful  joke. 

"  Ye  wull  hae  yir  fun,  Maister  Leslie,  but  ye 
ken  hoo  it  maun  gae  fine.     The   gude  wife  an' 


i8  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 

me  were  calculatin',  juist  by  chance,  this  verra 
mornin',  and  we  baith  settled  that  we  cudna 
face  a  new  lease  comfortable  wi'  less  than  a 
fifty  pund  reduction,  but  we  micht  scrape  on 
wi'  forty." 

"  You  and  the  wife  'ill  hae  tae  revise  yir  cal- 
culations then,  an*  a'll  see  ye  again  when  ye  're 
reasonable." 

Three  weeks  later  there  was  another  acci- 
dental meeting,  when  the  factor  and  Hillocks 
discussed  the  price  of  fat  cattle  at  length,  and 
then  drifted  into  the  lease  question  before 
parting. 

"  Weel,  Hillocks,  what  aboot  that  rise?  will 
ye  manage  the  fifty,  or  must  we  let  ye  have  it 
at  forty  ?" 

"  Dinna  speak  like  that,  for  it 's  no  jokin' 
maitter  tae  me ;  we  micht  dae  wi'  five-and- 
twenty  aff,  or  even  twenty,  but  a'  dinna  believe 
his  lordship  wud  like  to  see  ain  o'  his  auldest 
tenants  squeezed." 

"  It 's  no  likely  his  lordship  'ill  take  a  penny 
off  when  he  's  been  expecting  a  rise  ;  so  I  '11 
just  need  to  put  the  farm  in  the  Advertiser — 
'  the  present  tenant  not  offering  ';  but  I  '11  wait 
a  month  to  let  ye  think  over  it." 


A   TRIUMPH    IN    DIPLOMACY         19 

When  they  parted  both  knew  that  the  rent 
would  be  settled,  as  it  was  next  Friday,  on  the 
old  terms. 

Opinion  in  the  kirkyard  was  divided  over 
this  part  of  the  bargain,  a  minority  speaking  of 
it  as  a  drawn  battle,  but  the  majority  deciding 
that  Hillocks  had  wrested  at  least  ten  pounds 
from  the  factor,  which  on  the  tack  of  nineteen 
years  would  come  to  £\()0.  So  far  Hillocks 
had  done  well,  but  the  serious  fighting  was  still 
to  come. 

One  June  day  Hillocks  sauntered  into  the 
factor's  office  and  spent  half  an  hour  in  ex- 
plaining the  condition  of  the  turnip '' breer" 
in  Drumtochty,  and  then  reminded  the  fac- 
tor that  he  had  not  specified  the  improve- 
ments that  would  be  granted  with  the  new 
lease. 

"  Improvements,"  stormed  the  factor.  "Ye 're 
the  most  barefaced  fellow  on  the  estate.  Hil- 
locks ;  with  a  rent  like  that  ye  can  do  yir  own 
repairs,"  roughly  calculating  all  the  time  what 
must  be  allowed. 

Hillocks  opened  his  pocket-book,  which  con- 
tained in  its  various  divisions  a  parcel  of  notes,  a 
sample  of  oats,  a  whip  lash,  a  bolus  for  a  horse, 


20         A   TRIUMPH    IN    DIPLOMACY 

and  a  packet  of  garden  seeds,  and  finally  extri- 
cated a  scrap  of  paper. 

"  Me  and  the  wife  juist  made  a  bit  note  o' 
the  necessaries  that  we  maun  hae,  and  we  're 
sure  ye  're  no  the  gentleman  tae  refuse  them. 

"  New  windows  tae  the  hoose,  an'  a  bit  place 
for  dishes,  and  maybe  a  twenty  pund  note  for 
plastering  and  painting  ;  that 's  naething. 

"  Next,  a  new  stable  an'  twa  new  byres,  as 
weel  as  covering  the  reed." 

"  Ye  may  as  well  say  a  new  steadin'  at  once 
and  save  time.  Man,  what  do  you  mean  by 
coming  and  havering  here  with  your  papers  ?" 

"  Weel,  if  ye  dinna  believe  me,  ask  Peter 
Robertson,  for  the  condeetion  o'  the  oot-houses 
is  clean  recdiklus." 

So  it  was  agreed  that  the  factor  should  drive 
out  to  see  for  himself,  and  the  kirkyard  felt 
that  Hillocks  was  distinctly  holding  his  own 
although  no  one  expected  him  to  get  the  reed 
covered. 

Hillocks  received  the  great  man  with  obsequi- 
ous courtesy,  and  the  gude  wife  gave  him  of 
her  best,  and  then  they  proceeded  to  business. 
The  factor  laughed  to  scorn  the  idea  that  Lord 
Kilspindie  should  do  anything  for  the   house, 


A   TRIUMPH    IN    DIPLOMACY         .i 

but  took  the  bitterness  out  of  the  refusal  by  a 
well-timed  compliment  to  Mrs.  Stirton's  skill, 
and  declaring  she  could  set  up  the  house  with 
the  profits  of  one  summer's  butter.  Hillocks 
knew  better  than  try  to  impress  the  factor  him- 
self by  holes  in  the  roof,  and  they  argued 
greater  matters,  with  the  result  that  the  stable 
was  allowed  and  the  byres  refused,  which  waa 
exactly  what  Hillocks  anticipated.  The  reed 
roof  was  excluded  as  preposterous  in  cost,  but 
one  or  two  lighter  repairs  were  given  as  a  con. 
solation. 

Hillocks  considered  that  on  the  whole  he 
was  doing  well,  and  he  took  the  factor  round 
the  farm  in  fair  heart,  although  his  face  was 
that  of  a  man  robbed  and  spoiled. 

Hillocks  was  told  he  need  not  think  of  wire- 
fencing,  but  if  he  chose  to  put  up  new  palings 
he  might  have  the  fir  from  the  Kilspindie 
woods,  and  if  he  did  some  draining,  the  estate 
would  pay  the  cost  of  tiles.  When  Hillocks 
brought  the  factor  back  to  the  house  for  a  cup 
of  tea  before  parting,  he  explained  to  his  wife 
that  he  was  afraid  they  would  have  to  leave  in 
November — the  hardness  of  the  factor  left  no 
alternative. 


22  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 

Then  they  fought  the  battle  of  the  cattle 
reed  up  and  down,  in  and  out,  for  an  hour,  till 
the  factor,  who  knew  that  Hillocks  was  a  care- 
ful and  honest  tenant,  laid  down  his  ultimatum. 

"  There  's  not  been  a  tenant  in  my  time  so 
\vell  treated,  but  if  ye  see  the  draining  is  well 
done,  I  '11  let  you  have  the  reed." 

"  A'  suppose,"  said  Hillocks,  "  a  '11  need  tae 
fall  in."  And  he  reported  his  achievement  to 
the  kirkyard  next  Sabbath  in  the  tone  of  one 
who  could  now  look  forward  to  nothing  but  a 
life  of  grinding  poverty. 


FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 


I. 

THE    COUNTRY   TYRANT 

No  man  was  better  liked  or  more  respected 
than  Burnbrae,  but  the  parish  was  not  able  to 
take  more  than  a  languid  interest  in  the  re- 
newal of  his  lease,  because  it  was  understood 
that  he  would  get  it  on  his  own  terms. 

Drumsheugh  indeed  stated  the  situation  ad- 
mirably one  Sabbath  in  the  kirkyard. 

"  Whatever  is  a  fair  rent  atween  man  an'  man 
Burnbrae  'ill  offer,  and  what  he  canna  gie  is  no 
worth  hevin'  frae  anither  man. 

"As  for  buildings,  he 'ill  juist  tell  the  factor 
onything  that's  needfu',  an'  his  lordship  'ill  be 
content. 

"  Noo,  here  's  Hillocks  ;  he  'd  argle-bargle  wi' 
the  factor  for  a  summer,  an'  a  'm  no  blamin' 
him,  for  it 's  a  fine  ploy  an'  rael  interestin'  tae 
the  pairish,  but  it 's  doonricht  wark  wi'  Burn- 
brae. 

C 


26  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

"  A  Ve  kent  him  since  he  wes  a  laddie,  and  a 
tell  ye  there 's  nae  dukery-packery  (trickery) 
aboot  Burnbrae  ;  he  's  a  straicht  man  an'  a  gude 
neebur.  He  'ill  be  settlin'  wi'  the  new  factor 
this  week,  a'  wes  hearin'." 

Next  Sabbath  the  kirkyard  was  thrown  into 
a  state  approaching  excitement  by  Jamie 
Soutar,  who,  in  the  course  of  some  remarks  on 
the  prospects  of  harvest,  casually  mentioned 
that  Burnbrae  had  been  refused  his  lease,  and 
would  be  leaving  Drumtochty  at  Martinmas. 

"What  for?"  said  Drumsheugh  sharply; 
while  Hillocks,  who  had  been  offering  his  box 
to  Whinnie,  remained  with  outstretched  arm. 

"  Naethin'  that  ye  wud  expeck,  but  juist  some 
bit  differ  wi*  the  new  factor  aboot  leavin'  his 
kirk  an'  jining  the  lave  o'  us  in  the  Auld  Kirk. 
Noo,  if  it  hed  been  ower  a  cattle  reed  ye  cud 
hae  understude  it,  but  for  a  man " 

"  Nae  mair  o'  yir  havers,  Jamie,"  broke  in 
Drumsheugh,  "  and  keep  yir  tongue  aff  Burn- 
brae;  man,  ye  gied  me  a  fricht." 

"  Weel,  weel,  ye  dinna  believe  me,  but  it  wes 
the  gude  wife  hersel'  that  said  it  tae  me,  and 
she  wes  terrible  cast  doon.  They  've  been  a' 
their  merried  life  in  the  place,  an'  weemen  tak 


THE    COUNTRY   TYRANT  27 

ill  wi'  changes  when  they  're  gettin'  up  in 
years." 

"  A'  canna  believe  it,  Jamie" — although 
Drumsheugh  was  plainly  alarmed  ;  "  a  '11  grant 
ye  that  the  new  factor  is  little  better  than  a 
wauiie,  an'  a  peetifu'  dooncome  frae  Maister 
Leslie,  but  he  daurna  meddle  wi'  a  man's  re- 
leegion. 

"  Bigger  men  than  the  factors  tried  that 
trade  in  the  auld  days,  and  they  didna  come 
oot  verra  weel.  Eh,  Jamie,  ye  ken  thae  stories 
better  than  ony  o'  us." 

"  Some  o'  them  cam  oot  withoot  their 
heads,"  said  Jamie,  with  marked  satisfaction. 

"  Forby  that,"  continued  Drumsheugh,  gain- 
ing conviction.  "  What  dis  the  wratch  ken 
aither  aboot  the  Auld  Kirk  or  Free  Kirk?  if 
he  didna  ask  me  laist  month  hoo  mony  P.  and 
O.'s  we  hed  in  the  glen,  meanin'  U.P.'s,  a  'm 
jidgin'. 

"  He  's  an  Esculopian  (Episcopalian)  himsel', 
if  he  gaes  onywhere,  an'  it  wud  be  a  scannal  for 
the  like  o'  him  tae  mention  the  word  kirk  tae 
Burnbrae." 

"Ye  never  ken  what  a  factor  'ill  dae,"  an- 
swered Jamie,  whose  prejudices  were  invincible, 


28  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

"  but  the  chances  are  that  it  'ill  be  mischief, 
setting  the  tenant  against  the  landlord  and  the 
landlord  against  the  tenant;  tyrannising  owcr 
the  ane  till  he  daurna  lift  his  head,  an'  pushion- 
ing  the  mind  o'  the  ither  till  he  disna  ken  a 
true  man  when  he  sees  him." 

"  Preserve  's  !"  exclaimed  Hillocks,  amazed  at 
Jamie's  eloquence,  for  the  wrong  of  Burnbrae 
had  roused  our  cynic  to  genuine  passion,  and 
his  little  affectations  had  melted  in  the  white 
heat. 

"  What  richt  hes  ony  man  to  hand  ower  the 
families  that  hev  been  on  his  estate  afore  he 
wes  born  tae  be  harried  an'  insulted  by  some 
domineering  upstart  of  a  factor,  an'  then  tae 
spend  the  money  wrung  frae  the  land  by  hon- 
est fouks  amang  strangers  and  foreigners  ? 

"What  ails  the  landlords  that  they  wunna 
live  amang  their  ain  people  and  oversee  their 
ain  affairs,  so  that  laird  and  farmer  can  mak 
their  bargain  wi'  nae  time-serving  interloper 
atween,  an'  the  puirest  cottar  on  an  estate  hae 
the  richt  tae  see  the  man  on  whose  lands  he 
lives,  as  did  his  fathers  before  him  ? 

"  A  'm  no  savin'  a  word,  mind  ye,  against 
Maister  Leslie,  wha  's  dead  and  gaen,  or  ony 


THE   COUNTRY   TYRANT  29 

factor  like  him  ;  he  aye  made  the  maist  he  cud 
for  his  lordship,  an'  that  was  what  he  wes 
paid  for ;  but  he  wes  a  fair-dealin'  and  gude- 
hearted  man,  an'  lie  'ill  be  sairly  missed  an' 
murned  afore  we  're  dune  wi'  his  successor. 

"  Gin  ony  man  lies  sae  muckle  land  that  he 
disna  know  the  fouk  that  sow  an'  reap  it,  then 
a  'm  judgin'  that  he  hes  ower  muckle  for  the 
gude  o'  the  commonwealth  ;  an'  gin  ony  land- 
lord needs  help,  let  him  get  some  man  o'  oor 
ain  flesh  an'  bluid  tae  guide  his  affairs. 

"  But  div  ye  ken,  necburs,  what  his  lordship 
hes  dune,  and  what  sort  o'  man  he  's  set  ower 
us,  tae  meddle  wi'  affairs  he  kens  naethin' 
aboot,  an'  tae  trample  on  the  conscience  o'  the 
best  man  in  the  Glen  ?  Hae  ye  heard  the  his- 
tory o*  oor  new  ruler?" 

Drumtochty  was  in  no  mood  to  interrupt 
Jamie,  who  was  full  of  power  that  day. 

"  A  '11  tell  ye,  then,  what  a  've  got  frae  a  sure 
hand,  an'  it 's  the  story  o'  mony  a  factor  that  is 
handing  the  stick  ower  the  heids  o'  freeborn 
Scottish  men. 

"  He  's  the  cousin  of  an  English  lord,  whose 
forbears  got  a  title  by  rouping  their  votes,  an' 
ony  conscience  they  hed,  tae  the  highest  bid- 


30  FOR    CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

der  in  the  bad  auld  days  o'  the  Georges — that 's 
the  kind  o'  bluid  that 's  in  his  veins,  an'  it 's  no 
clean. 

*'  His  fouk  started  him  in  the  airmy,  but  he 
hed  tae  leave — cairds  or  drink,  or  baith.  He 
wes  a  wine-merchant  for  a  whilie  an'  failed,  and 
then  he  wes  agent  for  a  manure  company,  till 
they  sent  him  aboot  his  business. 

"  Aifterwards  he  sorned  on  his  freends  and 
gambled  at  the  races,  till  his  cousin  got  roond 
Lord  Kilspindie,  and  noo  he  's  left  wi'  the  poor 
o'  life  an'  death  ower  fower  pairishes  while  his 
lordship's  awa'  traivellin'  for  his  health  in  the 
East. 

"  It  may  be  that  he  lies  little  releegion,  as 
Drumsheugh  says,  an'  we  a'  ken  he  hes  nae  in- 
telligence, but  he  hes  plenty  o'  deevilry,  an'  he  's 
made  a  beginnin'  wi'  persecutin'  Burnbrae. 

"  A  'm  an  Auld  Kirk  man,"  concluded  Jamie, 
"  an'  an  Auld  Kirk  man  a  '11  dee  unless  some 
misleared  body  tries  tae  drive  me,  an'  then  a' 
wud  jine  the  Free  Kirk.  Burnbrae  is  the  stiff- 
est  Free  Kirker  in  Drumtochty,  an'  mony  an 
argument  a  've  hed  wi'  him,  but  that  maks  nae 
maitter  the  day. 

"  Ilka  man  hes  a  richt  tae  his  ain  thochts,  an' 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT  31 

is  bund  tae  obey  his  conscience  accordin'  tae 
hi?  lichts,  an'  gin  the  best  man  that  ever  lived 
is  tae  dictate  oor  releegion  tae  us,  then  cor 
fathers  focht  an'  deed  in  vain." 

Scottish  reserve  conceals  a  rich  vein  of  heroic 
sentiment,  and  this  unexpected  outburst  of 
Jamie  Soutar  had  an  amazing  effect  on  the 
fathers,  changing  the  fashion  of  their  counte- 
nances and  making  them  appear  as  new  men. 
When  he  began,  they  were  a  group  of  working 
farmers,  of  slouching  gait  and  hesitating  speech 
and  sordid  habits,  quickened  for  the  moment  by 
curiosity  to  get  a  bit  of  parish  news  fresh  from 
Jamie's  sarcastic  tongue  ;  as  Jamie's  fierce  in- 
dignation rose  to  flame,  a  "  dour"  look  came 
into  their  faces,  turning  their  eyes  into  steel, 
and  tightening  their  lips  like  a  vice,  and  before 
he  had  finished  every  man  stood  straight  at  his 
full  height,  with  his  shoulders  set  back  and  his 
head  erect,  while  Drumsheugh  looked  as  if  he 
saw  an  army  in  battle  array,  and  even  Whinnie 
grasped  his  snuff-box  in  a  closed  fist  as  if  it  had 
been  a  drawn  sword.  It  was  the  danger  signal 
of  Scottish  men,  and  ancient  persecutors  who 
gave  no  heed  to  it  in  the  past  went  crashing  to 
their  doom. 


32  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

"  Div  ye  mean  tae  say,  James  Soutar,"  said 
Drumsheugh  in  another  voice  than  his  wont, 
quieter  and  sterner,  "  ye  ken  this  thing  for  cer- 
tain, that  the  new  factor  hes  offered  Burnbrae 
the  choice  atween  his  kirk  an'  his  fairm  ?" 

"  That  is  sae,  Drumsheugh,  as  a  'm  stannin* 
in  this  kirkyaird — although  Burnbrae  himsel', 
honest  man,  hes  said  naething  as  yet — an'  a' 
thocht  the  suner  the  pairish  kent  the  better." 

"  Ye  did  weel,  Jamie,  an'  a'  tak  back  what  a' 
said  aboot  jokin' ;  this  'ill  be  nae  jokin'  maitter 
aither  for  the  factor  or  Drumtochty." 

There  was  silence  for  a  full  minute,  for 
Whinnie  himself  knew  that  it  was  a  crisis  in 
Drumtochty,  and  the  fathers  waited  for  Drums- 
heugh to  speak. 

People  admired  him  for  his  sharpness  in  bar- 
gaining, and  laughed  at  a  time  about  his  mean, 
ness  in  money  affairs,  but  they  knew  that  there 
was  a  stiff  backbone  in  Drumsheugh,  and  that 
in  any  straits  of  principle  he  would  play  the 
man. 

"  This  is  a  black  beesiness,  neeburs,  an'  nae 
man  among  us  can  see  the  end  o  't,  for  gin  they 
begin  by  tryin'  tae  harry  the  Frees  intae  the 
Auld  Kirk,  the  next  thing  they  'ill  dae  wull  be 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT  33 

tac  drive  us  a'  doon  tae  the  English  Chaipel  at 
Kildrummie." 

"  There  's  juist  ae  mind,  a'  tak'  it,  wi'  richt- 
thinkin'  men,"  and  Drumsheugh's  glance  settled 
on  Hillocks,  whose  scheming  ways  had  some- 
what sapped  his  manhood,  and  the  unfortunate 
land-steward,  whose  position  was  suddenly  in- 
vested with  associations  of  treachery.  "  We  'ill 
pay  oor  rent  and  dae  oor  duty  by  the  land  like 
honest  men,  but  we  'ill  no  tak  oor  releegion,  no, 
nor  oor  politics,  frae  ony  livin'  man,  naither  lord 
nor  factor. 

"  We  're  a'  sorry  for  Burnbrae,  for  the  brunt 
o'  the  battle  'ill  fa'  on  him,  an'  he  's  been  agude 
neebur  ta  a'  body,  but  there  's  nae  fear  o'  him 
buying  his  lease  wi'  his  kirk.  Ma  certes,  the 
factor  chose  the  worst  man  in  the  Glen  for  an 
aff  go.  Burnbrae  wud  raither  see  his  hale  plen- 
ishing gae  doon  the  Tochty  than  play  Judas  to 
his  kirk. 

"  It  's  an  awfu'  peety  that  oor  auld  Scotch 
kirk  wes  split,  and  it  wud  be  a  heartsome  sicht 
tae  see  the  Glen  a'  aneath  ae  roof  aince  a  week. 
But  ae  thing  we  maun  grant,  the  Disruption 
lat  the  warld  ken  there  wes  some  spunk  in 
Scotland. 


34  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

"  There  's  nae  man  a'  wud  raither  welcome  tae 
oor  kirk  than  Burnbrae,  gin  he  cam  o'  his  ain 
free  will,  but  it  wud  be  better  that  the  kirk  sud 
stand  empty  than  be  filled  wi'  a  factor's  hire- 
lings." 

Domsie  took  Drumsheugh  by  the  hand,  and 
said  something  in  Latin  that  escaped  the  fathers, 
and  then  they  went  into  kirk  in  single  file  with 
the  air  of  a  regiment  of  soldiers. 

Drumsheugh  set  in  the  "  briest  o'  the  laft," 
as  became  a  ruling  elder,  and  had  such  confi- 
dence in  the  minister's  orthodoxy  that  he  was 
accustomed  to  meditate  during  the  sermon,  but 
on  this  memorable  day  he  sat  upright  and 
glared  at  the  pulpit  with  a  ferocious  expression. 
The  doctor  was  disturbed  by  this  unusual  at- 
tention, and  during  his  mid-sermon  snuff  sought 
in  vain  for  a  reason,  since  the  sermon,  "  On  the 
Certainty  of  Harvest,  proved  by  the  Laws 
of  Nature  and  the  Promises  of  Revelation," 
was  an  annual  event,  and  Drumsheugh,  walking 
by  faith,  had  often  given  it  his  warm  approval. 
He  had  only  once  before  seen  the  same  look — 
after  the  great  potato  calamity  ;  and  when  the 
elder  came  to  the  manse,  and  they  had  agreed 
as  to  the  filling  quality  of  the  weather,  the  doc- 


THE   COUNTRY  TYRANT  35 

tor  inquired  anxiously  how  Drumsheugh  had 
done  with  his  potatoes. 

"  Weel  eneuch,"  with  quite  unaffected  indif- 
ference. '-Weel  eneuch,  as  prices  are  gaein', 
auchteen  pund,  '  Piggie  '  Hftin'  an'  me  cairtin' ; 
but  hev  ye  heard  aboot  Burnbrae?"  and  Drums- 
heugh announced  that  the  factor,  being  left 
unto  the  freedom  of  his  own  will,  had  opened  a 
religious  war  in  Drumtochty. 

His  voice  vibrated  with  a  new  note  as  he 
stated  the  alternative  offered  to  Burnbrae,  and 
the  doctor,  a  man  well  fed  and  richly  coloured, 
as  became  a  beneficed  clerg}'man,  turned  pur- 
ple. 

"  I  told  Kilspindie,  the  day  before  he  left," 
burst  out  the  doctor,  "  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake  in  bringing  a  stranger  in  John  Leslie's 
place,  who  was  a  cautious,  sensible  man,  and 
never  made  a  drop  of  bad  blood  all  the  time  he 
was  factor. 

"  '  Tomkyns  is  a  very  agreeable  fellow,  Da- 
vidson,' his  lordship  said  to  me,  '  and  a  first-rate 
shot  in  the  cover ;  besides,  he  has  seen  a  good 
deal  of  life,  and  knows  how  to  manage  men.' 

"  It 's  all  bad  life  he  's  seen,'  I  said,  '  and  it  's 
not  dining  and  shooting  make  a  factor.     That 


36  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

man  'ill  stir  up  mischief  on  the  estate  before 
you  come  back,  as  sure  's  your  name  's  Kilspin- 
die,'  but  I  never  expected  it  would  take  this 
turn. 

"  Fool  of  a  man,"  and  the  doctor  raged 
through  the  study,  "  does  he  not  know  that  it 
would  be  safer  for  him  to  turn  the  rotation  of 
crops  upside  down  and  to  double  every  rent 
than  to  meddle  with  a  man's  religion  in  Drum- 
tochty  ? 

"■  Drumsheugh,"  said  the  doctor,  coming  to  a 
stand,  ''  I  've  been  minister  of  this  parish  when 
there  was  only  one  church,  and  I  've  been  min- 
ister since  the  Free  Church  began.  I  saw  half 
my  people  leave  me,  and  there  were  hot  words 
going  in  '43  ;  but  nothing  so  base  as  this  has- 
been  done  during  the  forty  years  of  my  office, 
and  I  call  God  to  witness  I  have  lived  at  peace 
with  all  men. 

"  I  would  rather  cut  off  my  right  hand  than 
do  an  injury  to  Burnbrae  or  any  man  for  his 
faith,  and  it  would  break  my  heart  if  the  Free 
Kirk  supposed  I  had  anything  to  do  >vith  this 
deed. 

"  The  factor  is  to  be  at  the  inn  on  Tuesday ; 
I  '11  eo  to  him  there  and  then,  and  let  him  know 


THE    COUNTRY   TYRANT  37 

tliat  he  camu)t  touch  Burnbrac  without  rousing 
the  whole  parish  of  Drumtochty." 

"  Ye  'ill  tak  me  wi'  ye,  sir,  no  tae  speak,  but 
juist  tae  let  him  see  hoo  the  Auld  Kirk  feels." 

"  That  I  will,  Drumsheugh ;  there 's  grit  in 
the  Glen  ;  and  look  you,  if  you  meet  Burnbrae 
coming  from  his  kirk  ye  might  just " 

"  It  wes  in  ma  ain  mind,  doctor,  tae  sae  a 
word  for's  a',  an'  noo  a  '11  speak  wi'  authority. 
The  Auld  and  the  Frees  shoother  tae  shoother 
for  the  first  time  since  '43 — it  'ill  be  graund. 

"  Sail,"  said  Drumsheugh,  as  this  new  aspect 
of  the  situation  opened,  "  the  factor  hes  stirred  a 
wasp's  byke  when  he  meddled  wi'  Drumtochty." 

The  council  of  the  Frees  had  been  somewhat 
divided  that  morning — most  holding  stoutly 
that  Doctor  Davidson  knew  nothing  of  the 
factor's  action,  a  few  in  their  bitterness  being 
tempted  to  suspect  every  one,  but  Burnbrae 
was  full  of  charity. 

"  Dinna  speak  that  wy,  Netherton,  for  it  's 
no  Christian  ;  Doctor  Davidson  may  be  a  Mod- 
erate, but  he  'sa  straicht-forward  an'  honourable 
gentleman,  as  his  father  wes  afore  him,  and  hes 
never  said  '  kirk'  to  ane  o'  us  save  in  the  wy  o' 
freendliness  a'  his  days. 


38  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

"  It 's  no  his  blame  nor  Lord  Kilspindie's,  ye 
may  lippen  (trust)  to  that ;  this  trial  is  the  wull 
o'  God,  an'  we  maun  juist  seek  grace  tae  be 
faithfu'." 

Every  Sabbath  a  company  of  the  Auld  Kirk 
going  west  met  a  company  of  the  Frees  going 
east,  and  nothing  passed  except  a  nod  or  "  a 
wee  saft,"  in  the  case  of  drenching  rain,  not 
through  any  want  of  neighbourliness,  but  be- 
cause this  was  the  nature  God  had  been  pleased 
to  give  Drumtochty. 

For  the  first  time,  the  Auld  Kirk  insisted  on 
a  halt  and  conversation.  It  did  not  sound 
much,  being  mainly  a  comparison  of  crops 
among  the  men,  and  a  brief  review  of  the  but- 
ter market  by  the  women — Jamie  Soutar  only 
going  the  length  of  saying  that  he  was  coming 
next  Sabbath  to  hear  the  last  of  Cunningham's 
"  course" — but  it  was  understood  to  be  a  dem- 
onstration, and  had  its  due  effect. 

"  A'  wes  wrang,"  said  Netherton  to  Donald 
Menzies  ;  "  they  've  hed  naething  tae  dae  wi  't ; 
a'  kent  that  the  meenute  a'  saw  Jamie  Soutar. 
Yon  's  the  first  time  a'  ever  mind  them  stop- 
pin',"  and  a  mile  further  on  Netherton  added, 
"  That 's  ae  gude  thing,  at  ony  rate." 


THE   COUNTRY   TYRANT  39 

Burnbrae  and  Drumsheugh  met  later,  and 
alone,  and  there  were  no  preliminaries. 

"  Jamie  Soutar  told  us  this  mornin',  Burn- 
brae, in  the  kirkyaird,  and  a  've  come  straicht 
the  noo  frae  the  doctor's  study,  and  ye  never 
saw  a  man  mair  concerned. 

"  He  chairged  me  tae  say,  withoot  delay, 
that  he  wud  raither  hae  cut  aff  his  richt  hand 
than  dae  ye  an  ill,  an'  he  's  gaein'  this  verra 
week  tae  gie  his  mind  tae  the  factor. 

"  Man,  it  wud  hae  dune  your  hert  gude  gin 
ye  hed  heard  Jamie  this  mornin'  in  the  kirk- 
yaird ;  he  fair  set  the  heather  on  fire — a  'm  no 
settled  yet — we  're  a'  wi'  ye,  every  man  o  's. 

"  Na,  na,  Burnbrae,  we  're  no  tae  lose  ye  yet; 
ye  'ill  hae  yir  kirk  and  yir  fairm  in  spite  o'  a' 
the  factors  in  Perthshire,  but  a  'm  expeckin'  a 
fecht." 

"Thank  ye,  Drumsheugh,  thank  ye  kindly; 
and  wull  ye  tell  Doctor  Davidson  that  he  hesna 
lived  forty  years  in  the  Glen  for  naethin'  ? 

"  We  said  this  mornin'  that  he  wud  scorn 
tae  fill  his  kirk  with  renegades,  and  sae  wud  ye 
a',  but  a'  wesna  prepared  for  sic  feelin'. 

"  There  's  ae  thing  maks  me  prood  o'  the 
Glen :  nae  man,  Auld  or  Free,  hes  bidden  me 


40  FOR  CONSCIENCE    SAKE. 

pit  ma  fairm  afore  ma  kirk,  but  a  'body  expecks 
me  tae  obey  ma  conscience. 

"  A  've  got  till  Monday  week  tae  consider  ma 
poseetion,  and  it  'ill  depend  on  the  factor 
whether  a  '11  be  allowed  tae  close  ma  days  in 
the  place  where  ma  people  hae  lived  for  sax  gen- 
erations, or  gae  forth  tae  dee  in  a  strange  land." 

"  Dinna  speak  like  that,  Burnbrae  ;  the  doctor 
hesna  hed  his  say  yet ;  the  '11  be  somethin' 
Avorth  hearin' when  he  faces  the  factor;"  and 
Drumsheugh  waited  for  the  battle  between 
Church  and  State  with  a  pleasurable  anticipa- 
tion of  liv"ely  argument,  tempered  only  by  a 
sense  of  Burnbrae's  anxiety. 

The  factor,  who  was  dressed  in  the  height  of 
sporting  fashion  and  looked  as  if  he  had  lived 
hard,  received  the  doctor  and  his  henchman 
with  effusion. 

"  Doctor  Davidson,  Established  Church 
clergyman  of  Drumtochty?  quite  a  pleasure  to 
see  you  ;  one  of  our  farmers,  I  think  ;  seen  you 
before,  eh  }  Drum,  Drum — can't  quite  manage 
your  heathenish  names  yet,  d'  ye  know. 

"  Splendid  grouse  moor  you  've  got  up  here, 
and  only  one  poacher  in  the  whole  district,  the 
keepers  tell    me.     D'you  take  a  gun  yourself. 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT  41 

Doctor — ah — Donaldson,  or  does  the  kirk  not 
allow  that  kind  of  thing?"  and  the  factor's 
laugh  had  a  fine  flavour  of  contempt  for  a 
Scotch  country  minister. 

"  My  name  is  Davidson,  at  your  service,  Mr. 
Tomkyns,  and  I've  shot  with  Lord  Kilspindie 
when  we  were  both  young  fellows  in  the  'forties, 
from  Monday  to  Friday,  eight  hours  a  day,  and 
our  bag  for  the  week  was  the  largest  that  has 
ever  been  made  in  Perthshire. 

"  But  I  came  here  on  a  matter  of  business, 
and,  if  you  have  no  objection,  X  would  like  to 
ask  a  simple  question." 

"  Delighted,  I  'm  sure,  to  tell  you  anything 
you  wish,"  said  the  factor,  considerably  sobered. 

"  Well  a  very  unpleasant  rumour  is  spreading 
through  the  parish  that  you  have  refused  to 
renew  a  farmer's  lease  unless  he  promised  to 
leave  the  Free  Church?" 

"  An  old  fellow,  standing  very  straight,  with 
white  hair,  called — let  me  see,  Baxter;  yes, 
tnat  's  it,  Baxter;  is  that  the  man?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  name,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  growing  severity  ;  "  John  Baxter  of  Burn- 
brae,  the  best  man  in  the  parish  of  Drumtochty  ; 
and  I  want  an  answer  to  my  question." 


42  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

"  You  will  get  it,  and  Tomkyns  fixed  his  eye- 
glass  with  an  aggressive  air.  "  I  certainly  told 
Baxter  that  if  he  wanted  to  stay  on  the  estate 
he  must  give  up  his  dissenting  nonsense  and  go 
to  the  kirk." 

"  May  I  ask  your  reason  for  this  extraordinary 
condition  ?"  and  Drumsheugh  could  see  that 
the  Doctor  was  getting  dangerous. 

"  Got  the  wrinkle  from  my  cousin's,  Lord 
De  Tomkyns's,  land  agent.  He  's  cleared  all  the 
Methodists  off  their  estate. 

" '  The  fewer  the  dissenters  the  better,'  he 
said  to  me,  '  when  you  come  to  an  election, 
d'  you  know.' 

"  Are  you  mad,  and  worse  than  mad  ?  Who 
gave  you  authority  to  interfere  with  any  man's 
religion  ?  You  know  neither  the  thing  you  are 
doing,  nor  the  men  with  whom  you  have  to  do. 
Our  farmers,  thank  God,  are  not  ignorant  serfs 
who  know  nothing  and  cannot  call  their  souls 
their  own,  but  men  who  have  learned  to  think 
for  themselves,  and  fear  no  one  save  Almighty 
God." 

The  factor  could  hardly  find  his  voice  for 
amazement. 

"  But,  I  say,  aren't  you  the  EstabliDhed  Kirk 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT  43 

minister  and  a  Tory  ?  This  seems  to  me  rather 
strange  talk,  don't  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  it  does,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  but 
there  is  nothing  a  man  feels  deeper  than  the 
disgrace  of  his  own  side." 

"  Well,"  said  Tomkyns,  stung  by  the  word 
disgrace,  "  there  are  lots  of  things  I  could  have 
done  for  you,  but  if  this  is  your  line  it  may  not 
be  quite  so  pleasant  for  yourself  in  Drumtochty, 
let  me  tell  you." 

The  doctor  was  never  a  diplomatic  advocate, 
and  now  he  allowed  himself  full  liberty. 

"  You  make  Drumtochty  pleasant  or  un- 
pleasant for  me  I"  with  a  withering  glance  at 
the  factor.  "  There  is  one  man  in  this  parish 
neither  you  nor  your  master  nor  the  Queen 
herself,  God  bless  her,  can  touch,  and  that  is 
the  minister  of  the  Established  Church. 

"  I  was  here  before  you  were  born,  and  I  '11 
be  here  when  you  have  been  dismissed  from 
your  office.  There  is  just  one  favour  I  beg  of 
you,  and  I  hope  you  will  grant  it"- — the  doctor 
was  now  thundering — "  it  is  that  you  never 
dare  to  speak  to  me  the  few  times  you  may 
yet  come  to  the  parish  of  Drumtochty." 

Drumsheugh  went  straight  to  give  Bumbrae 


44  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

an  account  of  this  interview,  and  his  enthu- 
siasm was  still  burning. 

"  Naethin'  'ill  daunt  the  doctor — tae  hear 
him  dress  the  factor  wes  michty ;  he  hed  his 
gold-headed  stick  wi'  him,  'at  wes  his  father's, 
an'  when  he  brocht  it  dune  on  the  table  at  the 
end,  the  eyegless  droppit  oot  o'  the  waefu' 
body's  'ee,  an'  the  very  rings  on  his  fingers 
jingled. 

"  The  doctor  bade  me  say  'at  he  hed  pled  yir 
case,  but  he  wes  feared  he  hed  dune  ye  mair  ill 
than  gude." 

"  Be  sure  he  hesna  dune  that,  Drumsheugh  ; 
a'  didna  expeck  that  he  cud  change  the  factor's 
mind,  an'  a  'm  no  disappointed. 

"  But  the  doctor  hes  dune  a  gude  wark  this 
day  he  never  thocht  o',  and  that  will  bring  a 
blessing  beyond  mony  leases ;  for  as  lang  as 
this  generation  lives  an'  their  children  aifter 
them,  it  will  be  remembered  that  the  parish 
minister,  wi'  his  elder  beside  him,  forgot  thae 
things  wherein  we  differ,  and  stude  by  the 
Free  Kirk  in  the  'oor  o'  her  adversity." 


STATE  KC!?".!M': 


II 

THE   ENDLESS   CHOICE 

It  was  known  in  the  Glen  that  Burnbrae  must 
choose  on  Monday  between  his  farm  and  his 
conscience,  and  the  atmosphere  in  the  Free 
Church  on  Sabbath  was  such  as  might  be  felt. 
When  he  arrived  that  morning,  with  Jean  and 
their  three  sons — the  fourth  was  in  a  Highland 
regiment  on  the  Indian  frontier — the  group 
that  gathered  at  the  outer  gate  opened  to  let 
them  pass,  and  the  elders  shook  Burnbrae  by 
the  hand  in  serious  silence  ;  and  then,  instead 
of  waiting  to  discuss  the  prospects  of  the  Sus- 
tentation  Fund  with  Netherton,  Burnbrae  went 
in  with  his  family,  and  sat  down  in  the  peW 
where  they  had  worshipped  God  since  the  Dis- 
ruption. 

The  cloud  of  the  coming  trial  fell  on  the 
elders,  and  no  man  found  his  voice  for  a  space. 
Then  Donald  Menzies's  face  suddenly  light- 
ened, and  he  lifted  his  head. 


46  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

" '  With  persecutions '  wass  in  the  promise, 
and  the  rest  it  will  be  coming  sure." 

"  You  hef  the  word,  Donald  Menzies,"  said 
Lachlan  ;  and  it  came  to  this  handful  of  Scot- 
tish peasants  that  they  had  to  make  that  choice 
that  has  been  offered  unto  every  man  since  the 
world  began. 

Carmichael's  predecessor  was  minister  of  the 
Free  Church  in  those  days,  who  afterwards  got 
University  preferment — he  wrote  a  book  on  the 
Greek  particles,  much  tasted  in  certain  circles — 
and  is  still  called  "  the  Professor"  in  a  hushed 
voice  by  old  people.  He  was  so  learned  a 
scholar  that  he  would  go  out  to  visit  without 
his  hat,  and  so  shy  that  he  could  walk  to  Kil- 
drummie  with  one  of  his  people  on  the  strength 
of  two  observations,  the  first  at  Tochty  bridge 
and  the  other  at  the  crest  of  the  hill  above  the 
station.  Lachlan  himself  did  not  presume  at 
times  to  understand  his  sermons,  but  the  Free 
Church  loved  their  scholar,  for  they  knew  the 
piety  and  courage  that  dwelt  in  the  man. 

The  manse  housekeeper,  who  followed  Cun- 
ningham with  his  hat  and  saw  that  he  took  his 
food  at  more  or  less  regular  intervals,  was  at 
her  wit's  end  before  that  Sabbath. 


THE    ENDLESS    CHOICE  47 

"  A  Ve  hed  chairge  o'  him,"  she  explained 
to  the  clachan,  "  since  he  wes  a  laddie,  an' 
he 's  a  fine  bit  craiturie  ony  wy  ye  tak' 
him. 

"  Ye  juist  hammer  at  his  door  in  the  morning 
till  ye  're  sure  he  's  up,  an'  bring  him  oot  o'  the 
study  when  denner's  ready,  an'  watch  he  hesna 
a  buke  hoddit  aboot  him — for  he  's  tricky — an' 
come  in  on  him  every  wee  whilie  till  ye  think 
he  's  hed  eneuch,  an'  tak'  awa  his  lamp  when 
it 's  time  for  him  tae  gang  tae  bed,  an'  it  's 
safer  no  tae  lat  him  hae  mair  than  a  can'le  end, 
or  he  wud  set  tae  readin'  in  his  bed.  Na,  na, 
he  's  no  ill  tae  guide. 

"  But  keep  's  a',  he  's  been  sae  crouse  this 
week  that  he  's  fair  gae'n  ower  me.  He  's  been 
speakin'  tae  himsel'  in  the  study,  an'  he  '11  get 
up  in  the  middle  o'  his  denner  an'  rin  roond 
the  gairden. 

"  Ye  ken  the  minister  hardly  ever  speaks  gin 
ye  dinna  speak  tae  him,  though  he  's  aye  canty  ; 
bit  this  week  if  he  didna  stop  in  the  middle  o' 
his  denner  an'  lay  aff  a  story  aboot  three  hun- 
der  lads  that  held  a  glen  wi'  their  swords  till 
the  laist  o'  them  wes  killed — a  'm  dootin'  they 
were    Hielan'    caterans — an'  he   yokit    on   the 


48  FOR    CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

auld  martyrs  ae  nicht  tae  sic  an  extent  that  I 
wes  near  the  greetin'. 

"  Ye  wudna  ken  him  thae  times — he  's  twice 
his  size,  an'  the  langidge  poors  frae  him.  A' 
tell  ye  Burnbrae  's  on  his  brain,  and  ye  '11  hae  a 
sermon  worth  hcarin'  on  Sabbath.  Naebody 
kens  the  spirit  'at 's  in  ma  laddie  when  he 's 
roosed,"  concluded  Maysie,  with  the  just  pride 
of  one  who  had  tended  her  scholar  since  child- 
hood. 

"  What  shall  it  profit  a  man,"  was  the  text, 
and  in  all  the  sermon  there  was  not  one  abu- 
sive word,  but  the  minister  exalted  those  things 
that  endure  for  ever  above  those  that  perish 
in  the  using,  with  such  spiritual  insight  and 
wealth  of  illustration— there  was  a  moral  res- 
onance in  his  very  voice  which  made  men's 
nerves  tingle — that  Mrs.  Macfadyen,  for  once 
in  her  life,  refused  to  look  at  heads,  and  Don- 
ald Menzies  could  hardly  contain  himself  till 
the  last  psalm. 

It  was  the  custom  in  the  Free  Kirk  for  the 
minister  to  retire  first,  facing  the  whole  con- 
gregation on  his  way  to  the  vestry  at  the  back 
of  the  church,  and  Cunningham  confided  to  a 
friend  that  he  lost  in  weight  during  the  middle 


THE    ENDLESS   CHOICE  49 

passage ;  but  on  this  Sabbath  he  looked  every 
man  in  the  face,  and  when  he  came  to  Burn- 
brae's  pew  the  minister  paused,  and  the  two 
men  clasped  hands.  No  word  was  spoken,  not 
a  person  around  moved,  but  the  people  in  front 
felt  the  thrill,  and  knew  something  had  hap- 
pened. 

No  one  was  inclined  to  speak  about  that  ser- 
mon on  the  way  home,  and  Netherton  gave 
himself  with  ostentation  to  the  finger-and-toe 
disease  among  the  turnips.  But  the  Free  Kirk 
had  no  doubt  what  answer  Burnbrae  would  give 
the  factor,  and  each  man  resolved  within  his 
heart  that  he  would  do  likewise  in  his  time. 

"  It 's  michty,"  was  Jamie  Soutar's  comment, 
who  had  attended  the  Free  Kirk  to  show  his 
sympathy,  "  what  can  be  dune  by  speech.  Gin 
there  wes  a  juitlin',  twa-faced  wratch  in  the 
kirk,  yon  sermon  hes  straichtened  him  oot  an' 
made  a  man  o'  him. 

"  Maister  Cunningham  's  no  muckle  tae  look 
at  an*  he  's  the  quietest  body  a'  ever  saw ;  but 
he  's  graund  stuff  every  inch  o'  him,  and  hes  the 
courage  o'  a  lion." 

Burnbrae  and  Jean  walked  home  that  Sabbath 
alone,  and  the  past  encompassed  their  hearts. 


50  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

The  road  they  had  walked  since  childhood,  un- 
changed save  for  the  gap  where  the  old  beech 
fell  in  the  great  storm,  and  the  growth  of  the 
slowly  maturing  oaks  ;  the  burns  that  ran  be- 
neath the  bridges  with  the  same  gurgling  sound 
while  generations  came  and  went  ;  the  fields 
that  had  gone  twelve  times  through  the  rota- 
tion of  grass,  oats,  turnips,  barley,  grass  since 
they  remembered ;  the  farmhouses  looking 
down  upon  the  road  with  familiar  kindly  faces 
— Gormack  had  a  new  window,  and  Claywhat 
another  room  above  the  kitchen — awoke  sleep- 
ing memories  and  appealed  against  their  leav- 
ing. 

When  they  came  below  Woodhead,  the  two 
old  people  halted  and  looked  up  the  track  where 
the  hawthorn  hedges,  now  bright  with  dog- 
roses,  almost  met,  and  a  cart  had  to  force  its 
way  through  the  sweet-smelling  greenery.  It 
was  in  Woodhead  that  Jean  had  been  reared, 
and  a  brother  was  still  living  there  with  her 
only  sister. 

"  Div  ye  mind  the  nicht,  Jean,  that  ye  cam 
doon  the  road  wi'  me  and  a'  askit  ye  tae  be  ma 
wife?  it  wes  aboot  this  time." 

"  It  'ill  be  forty-five  year  the  mornin's  nicht, 


THE    ENDLESS   CHOICE  51 

John,  and  a'  see  the  verra  place  fra  here.  It 
wes  at  the  turn  o'  the  road,  and  there  's  a  r'  se- 
bush  yonder  still. 

"  Ye  pluckit  me  a  rose  afore  we  pairtit,  an'  a' 
hae  the  leaves  o't  in  the  cover  of  ma  Bible,  an' 
the  rose  at  oor  gairden  gate  is  a  cuttin'  that  a' 
took." 

The  old  school-house  was  not  visible  from  the 
road,  but  on  sight  of  the  path  that  turned  up- 
wards to  its  wood,  Jean  looked  at  Burnbrae  with 
the  inextinguishable  roguery  of  a  woman  in  hir 
eyes,  and  he  understood. 

"  Aye,  ye  were  a  hempie  o'  a  lassie,  Jean, 
making  faces  at  me  as  often  as  a'  lookit  at  ye, 
an'  crying,  '  Douce  John  Baxter,'  till  a'  wes  near 
the  greetin'  on  the  wy  hame." 

"  But  a'  likit  ye  a'  the  time  better  than  ony 
laddie  in  the  schule  ;  a'  think  a'  luved  ye  frae 
the  beginnin',  John." 

"  Wes  't  luve  gared  ye  dad  ma  ears  wi'  yir 
bukes  at  the  corner,  and  shute  me  in  amang  the 
whins?  but  ye '11  hae  forgotten  that,  wum- 
man." 

"  Fient  a  bit  o'  me  ;  it  wes  the  day  ye  took 
Meg  Mitchell's  pairt,  when  we  fell  oot  ower  oor 
places  in  the  class.     A'  didna  mind  her  bein' 


52  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

abune  me,  but  a'  cudna  thole  ye  turnin'  against 
me." 

"  Hoo  lang  is  that  ago,  Jean  ?" 
"  Sax  and  fifty  year  ago  laist  summer," 
The  auld  kirk  stood  on  a  bluff  overlooking  the 
Tochty,  with  the  dead  of  the  Glen  round  it ; 
and  at  the  look  on  Jean's  face,  Burnbrae  turned 
up  the  kirk  road  along  which  every  family  went 
some  day  in  sorrow. 

The  Baxters'  ground  lay  in  a  corner,  where 
the  sun  fell  pleasantly  through  the  branches 
of  a  beech  in  the  afternoon,  and  not  far 
from  the  place  where  afterwards  we  laid  Dom- 
sie  to  rest.  The  gravestone  was  covered  on 
both  sides  with  names,  going  back  a  century, 
and  still  unable  to  commemorate  all  the  Bax- 
ters that  had  lived  and  died  after  an  honest 
fashion  in  Drumtochty.  The  last  name  was 
that  of  a  child  : 

Jean,  the  daughter  of  John  Baxter, 

Farmer  of  Burnbrae, 

Aged  7  years. 

There  was  no  "  beloved"  nor  any  text,  but 

each  spring  the  primroses  came  out  below,  and 

all    summer    a   bunch    of    pinks    touched    the 

"  Jean"  with  their  fragrant  blossoms. 


THE    ENDLESS   CHOICE  53 

Her  mother  stooped  to  pluck  a  weed  from 
among  the  flowers  and  wipe  the  letters  of  the 
name  where  the  moss  was  gathering,  then  she 
bent  her  head  on  the  grey,  worn  stone,  and 
cried,  "  Jeannie,  Jeannie,  ma  bonnie  lassie." 

"  Dinna  greet,  Jean,  as  though  we  hed  nae 
lassie,"  said  Burnbrae,  "  for  there  's  naethin' 
here  but  the  dust.  Ye  mind  what  the  minister 
read  that  day,  '  He  shall  gather  the  lambs  with 
His  arm,  and  carry  them  in  His  bosom.' 

"  Be  thankfu'  we  have  the  fower  laddies 
spared,  a'  daein'  wecl,  an'  ane  near  ready  for  a 
kirk,  an'  you  an'  me  thegither  still.  We  've 
hed  mony  mercies,  Jean." 

"  A  'm  no  denyin'  that,  John,  an'  a  'm  prood 
o'  the  laddies  ;  but  there  's  no'  a  day  a'  dinna 
miss  ma  lassie,  an'  a'  can  hear  her  sayin'  '  mither ' 
still  when  ye  're  a'  in  the  fields  and  a  'm  alane." 

"  Wae  's  me,  wha  will  care  for  her  grave  when 
we  're  far  awa  an'  no  a  Baxter  left  in  the  Glen  ? 
It 's  nolichtsome  to  leave  thehoosewhar  we  've 
livit  sae  lang,  an'  the  fields  ye  've  lookit  at 
a'  yir  days,  but  it  's  sairest  tae  leave  yir  dead." 

The  past  with  the  tender  associations  that 
make  a  woman's  life  was  tightening  its  hold  on 
Jean,  and  when  they  looked  down  on  the  Glen 


54  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

from  the  height  of  Burnbrae,  her  voice  broke 
again  : 

"  It  's  a  bonnie  sicht,  John,  an'  kindly  tae  oor 
eyes ;  we  'ill  never  see  anither  tae  sateesfy  oor 
auld  age." 

"  A  've  seen  nae  ither  a'  ma  days,"  said  Burn- 
brae, "an'  there  can  be  nane  sae  dear  tae  me 
noo  in  this  warld  ;  but  it  can  be  boucht  ower 
dear,  lass,"  and  when  she  looked  at  him,  ''  wi* 
oor  souls,  jean,  wi'  oor  souls." 

No  Drumtochty  man  felt  at  ease  on  Sabbath, 
or  spoke  quite  like  himself  at  home,  till  he  had 
escaped  from  his  blacks  and  had  his  tea.  Then 
he  stretched  himself  with  an  air  of  negligence, 
and  started  on  a  survey  of  his  farm,  which 
allowed  of  endless  meditation,  and  lasted  in 
summer  time  unto  the  going  down  of  the  sun. 
It  was  a  leisurely  progress,  in  which  time  was 
of  no  importance,  from  field  to  field  and  into 
every  corner  of  each  field,  and  from  beast  to 
beast  and  round  every  beast  to  the  completion 
of  as  many  circles  as  there  were  beasts.  The 
rate  was  about  one  and  a  half  miles  an  hour, 
excluding  halts,  and  the  thumbs  were  never 
removed  from  the  armholes  except  for  experi- 
mental  observations.     No   one  forgot  that  it 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE  55 

Tvas  Sabbath,  and  there  were  things  no  right- 
thinking  man  would  do.  Drumsheugh  might 
sample  a  head  of  oats  in  his  hand,  in  sheer 
absence  of  mind,  but  he  would  have  been 
ashamed  to  lift  a  shaw  of  potatoes ;  and  although 
Hillocks  usually  settled  the  price  he  would  ask 
for  his  fat  cattle  in  the  midst  of  these  reveries, 
he  always  felt  their  ribs  on  a  Saturday.  When 
the  gudeman  came  in,  he  had  taken  stock  with 
considerable  accuracy,  but  he  was  justly  horri- 
fied to  find  his  vv^ife  asleep,  with  her  head  un- 
comfortably pillowed  on  the  open  family  Bi- 
ble. 

With  the  more  religious  men  these  Sabbath 
evening  walks  had  in  them  less  of  this  world 
and  more  of  that  which  is  to  come.  Donald 
Menzies  had  seen  strange  things  in  the  fading 
light  as  he  wandered  among  the  cattle,  and  this 
evening  the  years  that  were  gone  came  back  to 
Burnbrae.  For  a  townsman  may  be  born  in 
one  city  and  educated  in  a  second,  and  married 
in  a  third,  and  work  in  a  fourth.  His  houses 
are  but  inns,  which  he  uses  and  forgets  ;  he  has 
no  roots,  and  is  a  vagrant  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  But  the  countryman  is  born  and  bred, 
and  marries  and  toils  and  dies  on  one  farm,  and 


56  FOR   CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

the  scene  he  looks  at  in  his  old  age  is  the  same 
he  saw  in  his  boyhood.  His  roots  are  struck 
deep  into  the  soil,  and  if  you  tear  them  up,  his 
heart  withers  and  dies.  When  some  townsman 
therefore  reads  of  a  peasant  being  cast  out  of 
his  little  holding,  he  must  not  consider  that 
it  is  the  same  as  a  tenant  going  from  one  street 
to  another,  for  it  is  not  a  house  this  farmer 
leaves  :  it  is  his  life. 

Burnbrae  passed  through  the  kitchen  on  his 
way  out,  and  an  old  chair  by  the  fireside  made 
him  a  laddie  again,  gathered  with  the  family  on 
a  winter  Sabbath  evening,  and  he  heard  his 
father  asking  the  "chief  end  of  man."  The 
first  gate  on  the  farm  swung  open  at  a  touch, 
and  he  remembered  this  was  his  father's  idea, 
and  he  found  the  wedge  that  changed  the  ele- 
vation of  the  hinge.  That  was  a  dyke  he  built 
in  his  youth,  and  there  was  the  stone  he  blasted 
out  of  the  field,  for  the  hole  was  still  open. 
Down  in  that  meadow  there  used  to  be  a  pond 
where  he  was  almost  drowned  nearly  seventy 
years  ago,  but  he  had  drained  it,  and  the  corn 
upon  the  place  was  growing  rank.  This  was 
the  little  bridge  he  had  mended  for  the  home- 
coming of  his  bride,  and  from  that  rock  his  old 


THE    ENDLESS    CHOICE  57 

father  had  directed  him  with  keen  interest,  and 
in  that  clump  of  trees,  alone  before  the  Eternal, 
the  great  event  of  his  soul  had  come  to  pass. 
He  had  often  thought  that  some  day  he  would 
be  carried  over  that  bridge,  and  trusted  he  was 
ready,  but  he  hoped  he  might  be  spared  to  see 
the  Black  Watch  come  home,  and  to  hear  his 
youngest  son  preach  in  Drumtochty  Free  Kirk. 
The  agony  of  leaving  came  upon  him,  and 
Burnbrae  turned  aside  among  the  trees. 

He  sought  out  Jean  on  his  return,  and  found 
her  in  a  little  summer-house,  which  he  had 
made  the  first  year  of  their  marriage.  As  they 
sat  together  in  silence,  each  feeling  for  the 
other,  Burnbrae's  eyes  fell  on  a  patch  of  annu- 
als, and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  they  made  some 
letters. 

Burnbrae  looked  at  his  wife. 

"  Is  that  oor  lassie's  name  ?" 

•'Aye,  it  is.  A  've  sown  it  mony  a  year,  out 
this  is  the  first  summer  a'  cud  read  it  plain,  and 
the  last  a  '11  sow  it  in  oor  gairden  ;  an'  yon  's 
the  apple  tree  *we  planted  the  year  she  wes 
born,  an'  the  blossom  never  wes  sae  bonnie  as 
this  year. 

"  Oh,  John,  a'  ken  we  oucht  tae  dae  what 's 


58  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

richt,  an'  no  deny  oor  principles  ;  but  a'  canna 
leave,  a'  canna  leave. 

"  It 's  no  siller  or  plenishing  a  'm  thinkin' 
aboot ;  it 's  the  hoose  ye  brocht  me  tae  that 
day,  an'  the  room  ma  bairns  were  born  in,  an' 
the  gairden  she  played  in,  an'  whar  a*  think  o' 
her  in  the  gloamin'. 

"  It 's  mair  than  a'  can  bear  tae  pairt  wi'  ma 
hame,  an'  the  kirkyaird,  an'  gang  into  a  strange 
place  where  a'  ken  naebody  and  naebody  kens 
us.     It  'ill  brak  ma  hert. 

"  Are  ye  fixed  aboot  this  maitter,  John  ?  .  .  . 
there  's  no  muckle  difference  aifter  a'.  .  .  .  Dr. 
Davidson  's  a  fine  man,  an'  a  've  herd  ye  praise 
him  yersel  ...  if  ye  promised  tae  gang  at  a 
time,  maybe,  ,  ,  ."  And  Jean  touched  Burn- 
brae  timidly  with  her  hand. 

**  A'  want  tae  dee  here  and  be  beeried  wi' 
Jeannie." 

"  Dinna  try  me  like  this,"  Burnbrae  cried, 
with  agony  in  his  voice,  "  for  the  cross  is  heavy 
eneuch  already  withoot  the  wecht  o'  yir  plead- 
in'. 

"  Ye  dinma  see  the  nicht  what  ye  are  askin', 
for  yir  een  are  blind  wi'  tears.  If  a'  gied  in 
tae   ye  and    did  what  ye  ask,  ye  wud  be  the 


THE   ENDLESS   CHOICE  59 

sorriest  o'  the  twa,  for  nane  hes  a  truer  hert 
than  ma  ain'  wife. 

"  If  it  wes  onything  else  ye  askit,  ye  wud 
hae  it,  Jean,  though  it  cost  me  a'  my  gear,  but 
a'  daurna  deny  my  Lord,  no  even  for  yir  dear 
sake.  ...  He  died  for  us  .  .  .  an'  this  is  a' 
He  asks.  .  .  . 

"  A'  maun  sae  no  tae  the  factor  the  mornin', 
an'  if  ye  're  against  me  it  'ill  be  hard  on  flesh 
and  blood.  .  .  .  Say  yir  wuUin',  an'  a'  fear  nae 
evil,  Jean." 

"  A  'm  tryin'  hard,  John,"  and  they  spoke 
together  with  a  low  voice,  while  the  kindly 
darkness  fell  as  a  sacred  cover  round  about 
them ;  and  when  they  came  into  the  light  of 
the  kitchen,  where  the  family  was  waiting, 
there  was  victory  on  the  face  of  Burnbrae  and 
Jean  his  wife. 

"Well,  Baxter,"  said  the  factor  in  his  room 
next  day,  "  your  offer  is  all  right  in  money, 
and  we  'ill  soon  settle  the  building.  By  the 
way,  I  suppose  you  've  thought  over  that  kirk 
affair,  and  will  give  your  word  to  attend  the 
Estabhshed  Church,  eh?" 

"  Ye  may  be  sure  that  a  've  gien  a*  ye  said 
ma    best    judgment,    an'    there 's   naething   I 


6o  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

wudna  dae  to  be  left  in  Burnbrae,  but  this 
thing  ye  ask  a'  canna  grant." 

"  Why  not  ?"  and  the  factor,  lounging  in  his 
chair,  eyed  Burnbrae  contemptuously  as  he 
stood  erect  before  him.  "  My  groom  tells  me 
that  there  is  not  a  grain  of  difference  between 
all  those  kirks  in  Scotland,  and  that  the  whole 
affair  is  just  down-right  bad  temper,  and  I  be- 
lieve he  's  right." 

"  A'  wudna  say  onything  disrespectfu',  sir, 
but  it 's  juist  possible  that  naither  you  nor 
your  groom  ken  the  history  o'  the  Free 
Church ;  but  ye  may  be  sure  sensible  men  and 
puir  fouk  dinna  mak  sic  sacrifices  for  bad 
temper." 

"Come  along,  then,"  and  the  factor  allowed 
himself  to  be  merry,  "  let 's  hear  a  sermon. 
You  Scotchmen  are  desperate  fellows  for  that 
kind  of  thing.  Does  the  Free  Kirk  sing 
Psalms  one  way  and  the  Established  Kirk 
another  ?     It 's   some   stark  nonsense,  I  know." 

"  It  may  be  to  you,  but  it  is  not  to  us  ;  and 
at  ony  rate,  it  is  the  truth  accordin'  tae  ma 
licht,  an'  ilka  man  maun  gae  by  that  as  he  sail 
answer  at  the  Judgment." 

"  Don't  stand   canting  here.     Do  you  mean 


THE    ENDLESS    CHOICE  oi 

to  say  that  you  will  lose  your  farm,  and  see 
your  family  at  the  door  for  a  kirk  ?  You  can't 
be  such  a  drivelling  fool ;  and  a  fellow  of  your 
age  too  !     Yes  or  no  ?" 

"A'  hae  nae  choice,  then,  but  tae  say  No; 
an'  that's  ma  laist  word." 

"  Then  you  and  the  rest  of  your  friends  will 
march,  d'  you  understand  ?  You  may  take 
this  for  notice  at  once— and  I  '11  get  some  ten- 
ants that  have  respect  for — ah — for — in  fact, 
for  law  and  order." 

"  Ye  may  clear  the  Free  Kirk  fouk  oot  o' 
Drumtochty,  an'  get  new  tenants  o*  some 
kind  ;  but  when  ye  hae  filled  the  Glen  wi' 
greedy  time-servers  his  lordship  'ill  miss  the 
men  that  coonted  their  conscience  mair  than 
their  fairms." 

"  If  you  have  quite  finished,  you  may  go," 
said  the  factor  ;  "  leaving  your  farm  does  not 
seem  to  touch  you  much." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Burnbrae  with  great  solem- 
nity, "  I  pray  God  you  may  never  have  such 
sorrow  as  you  have  sent  on  my  house  this  day." 

Jean  was  waiting  at  the  top  of  the  brae  for 
her  man,  and  his  face  told  her  the  event. 

"Ye   maunna  be  cast  doon,  Jean,"  and  his 


62  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

voice  was  very  tender,  "  an'  a'  ken  weel  ye  'ill 
no  be  angry  wi'  me." 

"Angry?"  said  Jean;  "ma  hert  failed  last 
nicht  for  a  whilie,  but  that 's  ovver  noo  an'  for 
ever,  John  a'  luvit  ye  frae  the  time  we  sat  in 
the  schule  thegither,  an'  a'  wes  a  happy  wum- 
man  when  ye  mairried  me. 

"  A've  been  lifted  mony  a  time  when  a'  saw 
how  fouk  respeckit  ye,  and  abune  a'  when  ye 
gaed  doon  the  kirk  with  the  cups  in  yir  hands 
at  the  Saicrament,  for  a'  kent  ye  were  worthy. 

"  Ye  're  dearer  tae  me  ilka  year  that  comes 
and  gaes,  but  a'  never  luvit  ye  as  a'  dae  this 
nicht,  an'  a'  coont  sic  a  husband  better  than 
onything  God  cud  gie  me  on  earth." 

And  then  Jean  did  what  was  a  strange  thing 
in  Drumtochty — she  flung  her  arms  round 
Burnbrae's  neck  and  kissed  him. 


Ill 

A  DISPLENISHING   SALE 

DrumtOCHTY,  hoeing  the  turnips  for  the  seo 
ond  time  on  a  glorious  day  in  early  August,  saw 
the  Kildrummie  auctioneer  go  up  the  left  side 
of  the  Glen  and  down  the  right  like  one  charged 
with  high  affairs.  It  was  understood  that  Jock 
Constable  could  ride  anything  in  the  shape  of 
a  horse,  and  that  afternoon  he  had  got  ten 
miles  an  hour  out  of  an  animal  which  had  been 
down  times  without  number,  and  whose  roar- 
ing could  be  heard  from  afar.  Jock  was  in 
such  haste  that  he  only  smacked  his  lips  as  he 
passed  our  public-house,  and  waved  his  hand 
when  Hillocks  shouted,  "Hoo's  a'  wi'  ye?" 
from  a  neighbouring  field.  But  he  dismounted 
whenever  he  saw  a  shapely  gate-post,  and  spent 
five  minutes  at  the  outer  precincts  of  the  two 
churches. 

"  It  'ill  be  a  roup,"  and   Hillocks  nodded  to 


64  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

his  foreman  with  an  air  of  certitude  ;  "  a'  wan- 
ner wha 's  it  is;  some  Kildrummie  man,  maist 
likely." 

When  the  advertising  disease  first  broke  out 
in  the  country,  a  Muirtown  grocer  with  local 
connections  disfigured  our  main  road  with  his 
list  of  prices,  till  in  a  moment  of  incredible 
audacity  he  afifixed  a  cheap  tea  advertisement 
to  the  Parish  Kirk  door,  and  was  understood  to 
have  escaped  penal  servitude  by  offering  an  ab- 
ject apology  to  Doctor  Davidson,  and  con- 
tributing ten  pounds  for  the  poor  of  the  parish. 
Constable's  announcements  were  the  only  mural 
literature  afterwards  allowed  in  the  Glen,  and 
Jock  prided  himself  on  their  grandeur.  They 
were  headed  in  large  type  "  Displenishing 
Sale,"  and  those  imposing  words,  which  had 
never  been  heard  in  the  ordinary  speech  of  the 
Glen  within  the  memory  of  man,  were  sup- 
ported in  the  body  of  the  document  by  "  heif- 
ers," "  fat  oxen,"  "  draught  horses,"  "  agricul- 
tural implements,"  and  "  dairy  apparatus." 
Jock  had  "  cereals"  in  one  bill,  but  yielded  to 
public  feeling,  and  returned  to  "  oats  and  bar- 
ley" as  a  concession  to  the  condition  of  a  semi- 
educated  people. 


A   DISPLENISHING   SALE  05 

Persons,  without  imagination,  used  to  carp  at 
the  grand  style  and  demand  explanations,  but 
short  of  "  cereals,"  Jock  carried  the  community. 

"  What  gars  Jock  aye  say  '  Displenishing 
Sale  '  ?"  inquired  Hillocks  one  day,  after  he  had 
given  ten  minutes  to  a  bill  and  done  the  more 
ambitious  words  in  syllables.  "  An'  what  dis 
he  mean  by  '  heifer '  ?  A'  ken  the  beasts  on 
Milton  as  weel  as  ma  ain,  an'  a'  never  heard 
tell  o'  'heifer'  ootside  o'  the  Bible." 

"Ye 're  a  doited  (stupid)  body,  Hillocks," 
said  Jamie  Soutar,  who  was  always  much 
tickled  by  Jock's  efforts;  "ye  wudna  surely  ex- 
peck  an  unctioneer  tae  speak  aboot  roups,  and 
div  ye  think  yersel  that  quay  soonds  as  weel  as 
heifer?  Gin  ye  hed  naething  but  oor  ain  words 
on  a  post,  naebody  wud  look  twice  at  it,  but 
this  kind  o'  langidge  solemnises  ye  an'  maks  ye 
think." 

"  Man  Jamie,  a'  never  thocht  o'  that,"  for 
this  argument  touched  Hillocks  closely,  "an' 
a  'm  no  sayin'  but  ye  're  richt.  Jock  's  a  gabby 
body  an'  no  feared  o'  words." 

Constable  made  a  point  of  publishing  on 
Saturday  as  late  as  light  would  allow,  so  that 
his   literature  might  burst  upon  the   Glen  on 


66  FOR    CONSCIENCE   SAKE. 

Sabbath  morning  with  all  the  charm  of  a  sur- 
prise. Whether  a  man  came  east  or  west,  he 
had  the  benefit  of  three  bills  before  he  reached 
the  kirk  and  settled  down  quietly  to  the  one 
on  the  right  hand  pillar  of  the  kirkyard  gate. 
Less  than  this  number  of  wayside  editions 
would  not  have  served  the  purpose,  because 
there  was  a  severe  etiquette  in  reading.  When 
Whinnie  emerged  on  the  main  road  and  caught 
sight  of  "  Displenishing  Sale,"  he  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  cross  or  show  any  indecent 
curiosity.  He  only  nodded  and  proceeded  to 
settle  the  farm  in  his  mind.  The  second  bill, 
whose  geography  he  mastered  without  stop- 
ping, verified  his  conclusion  and  left  him  free 
to  run  over  in  his  mind  the  stock  and  crops 
that  would  be  offered.  A  pause  not  exceeding 
one  minute  was  allowed  for  the  head  of  the 
house  at  the  third  bill  to  detect  any  gross 
mistake  in  his  general  review,  but  the  examina- 
tion of  minute  details  was  reserved  for  the 
large  paper  edition  at  the  kirkyard.  This  was 
studied  from  the  first  word  to  the  last  in  pro- 
found silence,  but  was  rigidly  excluded  from 
direct  quotation  on  Sabbath.  When  Whinnie 
joined  the  fathers  he  only  referred  to  Milton's 


A   DISPLENISHING  SALE.  67 

roup  as  a  rumour  that  had  reached  his  ears^ 
and  might  have  been  discussed  at  length  on 
any  other  day. 

Drumsheugh,  waking,  as  it  were,  from  a 
reverie : 

"  A'  wudna  wunner  gin  the  Milton  roup  did 
come  aff  sune  .  .  .  there 's  twa  acre  mair 
neeps  than  a'  expeckit." 

Then  Hillocks  would  casually  remark,  as 
one  forced  into  a  distasteful  conversation, 
"  The  gude  wife  keeps  ae  coo,  a'  hear ;  she  'ill 
be  taking  a  pendicle  at  Kildrummie,  a  'm  judg- 
inV'  but  any  thorough  treatment  was  hindered 
by  circumstances. 

The  kirkyard  was  only  once  carried  beyond 
itself  by  Jock's  bills,  and  that  was  when  he  an- 
nounced Burnbrae's  sale. 

"  Keep  's  a',  fouk,  this  is  no  lichtsome,"  was 
all  Whinnie  could  say  as  he  joined  the  group, 
and  the  boxes  were  passed  round  without 
speech. 

"Weel,  weel,"  Hillocks  said  at  last,  in  the 
tone  consecrated  to  funerals,  "  he  'ill  be  sair 
missed." 

It  was  felt  to  be  an  appropriate  note,  and  the 
mouths  of  the  fatherswere  opened. 


68  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE. 

"A  graund  fairmer,"  continued  Hillocks,  en- 
couraged by  the  sympathetic  atmosphere  ;  **  he 
kent  the  verra  day  tae  sow,  an'  ye  cudna  find  a 
thistle  on  Burnbrae,  no,  nor  a  docken.  Gin  we 
a'  keepit  oor  land  as  clean  it  wud  set  us  bet- 
ter," and  Hillocks  spoke  with  the  solemnity  of 
one  pointing  the  moral  of  a  good  man's  life. 

"  He  hed  a  fine  hert  tae,"  added  Whinnie, 
feeling  that  Hillocks's  eulogy  admitted  of  ex- 
pansion ;  "  he  cam  up  laist  summer  when 
George  wes  lying  in  the  decline,  and  he  says 
tae  me,  'Whinnie,  yir  pasture  is  fair  burnt  up; 
pit  yir  coos  in  ma  second  cutting:  George  maun 
hae  gude  milk,'  an'  they  fed  a'  the  summer  in 
Burnbrae's  clover.  He  didna  like  sic  things 
mentioned,  but  it  disna  maitter  noo.  Marget 
wes  awfu'  touched." 

"  But  ye  cudna  ca'  Burnbrae  a  shairp  busi- 
ness man,"  said  Jamie  Soutar  critically ;  "  he 
keepit  Jess  Stewart  daein'  naethin'  for  five 
year,  and  gared  her  believe  she  wes  that  usefu' 
he  cudna  want  her,  because  Jess  wud  suner  hae 
deed  than  gaen  on  the  pairish. 

"  As  for  puir  fouk,  he  wes  clean  redeeklus ; 
there  wesna  a  weedow  in  the  Glen  didna  get 
her   seed    frae  him    in    a   bad   year.     He    hed 


A    DISPLENISHING   SALE.  69 

abeelity  in  gaitherin',  but  he  wes  wastefu'  in 
spendin*. 

"  Hooever,  he  's  gone  noo,  an'  we  maunna  be 
sayin'  ill  o'  the  dead ;  it 's  no  what  he  wud  hae 
dune  himsel.  Whatna  day's  the  beerial?"  in- 
quired Jamie,  anxiously. 

"  Beerial  ?  Losh  preserve  's,  Jamie,"  began 
Hillocks,  but  Drumsheugh  understood. 

"  Jamie  hes  the  richt  o't ;  if  Burnbrae  hed 
slippit  awa,  yir  faces  cudna  be  langer.  He  *s 
no  oot  o'  the  Glen  yet,  and  wha  kens  gin  he 
mayna  beat  the  factor  yet? 

"  It 's  no  muckle  we  can  dae  in  that  quarter 
but  there  's  ae  thing  in  oor  poor.  We  can  see 
that  Burnbrae  hes  a  gude  roup,  an'  gin  he  maun 
leave  us  that  he  cairries  eneuch  tae  keep  him 
an'  the  gude  wife  for  the  rest  o'  their  days. 

"  There  's  a  wheen  fine  fat  cattle  and  some 
gude  young  horse  ;  it  wud  be  a  sin  tae  let  them 
gae  below  their  price  tae  the  Muirtown  dealers. 
Na,  na,  the  man  that  wants  tae  buy  at  Burn- 
brae's  roup  'ill  need  tae  pay." 

The  countenance  of  the  kirkyard  lifted,  and 
as  Hillocks  followed  Drumsheugh  into  kirk,  he 
stopped  twice  and  wagged  his  head  with  marked 
satisfaction.     Three    days   later   it  was  under- 


70  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

stood  at  the  "  smiddy"  that  Burnbrae's  roup 
was  Hkely  to  be  a  success. 

Thursday  was  the  chosen  day  for  roups  in  our 
parts,  and  on  Monday  morning  they  began  to 
make  ready  at  Burnbrae.  Carts,  engrained 
with  the  mud  of  years,  were  taken  down  to  the 
burn,  and  came  back  blue  and  red.  Burnbrae 
read  the  name  of  his  grandfather  on  one  of  the 
shafts,  and  noticed  it  was  Burnebrae  in  those 
days.  Ploughs,  harrows,  rollers  were  grouped 
round  a  turnip  sowing  machine  (much  lent  to 
neighbours),  and  supported  by  an  array  of 
forks,  graips,  scythes,  and  other  lighter  imple- 
ments. The  granary  yielded  a  pair  of  fanners, 
half  a  dozen  riddles,  measures  for  corn,  a  pile  of 
sacks,  and  some  ancient  flails.  Harness  was 
polished  till  the  brass  ornaments  on  the  peaked 
collars  and  heavy  cart  saddles  emerged  from  ob- 
scurity, and  shone  in  the  sunshine.  Jean  emp- 
tied her  dairy,  and  ranged  two  churns,  one  her 
mother's,  a  cheese-press,  and  twenty-four  deep 
earthenware  dishes  at  the  head  of  a  field  where 
the  roup  was  to  take  place. 

"  Dinna  bring  oot  yir  dairy,  Jean  wumman," 
Burnbrae  had  pleaded  in  great  distress ;  "  we  'ill 
get  some  bit  placey  wi'  a  field  or  twa,  and  ye 


A   DISPLENISHING  SALE  71 

'ill  hae  a  coo  as  lang  as  ye  live.  A*  canna  bear 
tae  see  ma  wife's  kirn  sold  ;  ye  mind  hoo  a'  tried 
tae  help  ye  the  first  year,  an'  ye  splashed  me 
wi'  the  milk.     Keep  the  auld  kirn,  lass." 

"  Na,  na,  John,  it  wud  juist  fret  me  tae  see  it 
wi'  nae  milk  tae  fill  it,  for  it 's  no  an  ae-coo-kirn 
mine  like  a  pendicler's  (small  farmer's),  an'  a' 
wud  -raither  no  look  back  aifter  we  're  awa'," 
but  Jean's  hands  were  shaking  as  she  laid  down 
the  wooden  stamp  with  which  she  had  marked 
the  best  butter  that  went  to  Muirtown  market 
that  generation. 

On  Thursday  forenoon  the  live-stock  was 
gathered  and  penned  in  the  field  below  the 
garden,  where  the  dead  lassie's  name  bloomed 
in  fragrant  mignonette.  Burnbrae  and  Jean 
saw  all  their  gear,  save  the  household  furniture, 
set  out  for  sale.  She  had  resolved  to  be  brave 
for  his  sake,  but  every  object  in  the  field  made 
its  own  appeal  to  her  heart.  What  one  read  in 
the  auctioneer's  catalogue  was  a  bare  list  of 
animals  and  implements,  the  scanty  plenishing 
of  a  Highland  farm.  Jean  saw  everything  in  a 
golden  mist  of  love.  It  was  a  perfectly  prepos- 
terous old  dogcart  that  ought  to  have  been 
broken  up  long  ago,  but  how  often  she  had  gone 


72  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

in  it  to  Muirtown  on  market  days  with  John, 
and  on  the  last  journey  he  had  wrapped  her  up 
as  tenderly  as  when  she  was  a  young  bride. 
The  set  of  silver-plated  harness — but  there  was 
not  much  plating  left — Jean  had  bought  from  a 
Muirtown  saddler  with  savings  from  her  butter 
money,  and  had  seen  the  ostler  fit  on  the  old 
mare — her  foal,  old  enough  himself  now,  was  to 
be  sold  to-day — against  John's  coming  from  the 
cattle  mart.  He  was  so  dazzled  by  the  sheen 
of  the  silver  that  he  passed  his  own  conveyance 
in  the  stable  yard — he  never  heard  the  end  of 
that — and  he  could  only  shake  his  fist  at  her 
when  she  came  from  her  hiding-place,  profess- 
ing great  astonishment.  John  might  laugh  at 
her,  but  she  saw  the  people  admiring  the  turn- 
out as  they  drove  along  the  street  in  Muirtown, 
and,  though  it  took  them  three  hours  to  reach 
Burnbrae,  the  time  was  too  short  for  the  appre- 
ciation of  that  harness.  It  seemed  yesterday, 
but  that  was  seven-and-twenty  year  ago. 

"  Come  intaethe  hoose,  Jean,"  said  Burnbrae, 
taking  her  by  the  arm  ;  "  it  's  ower  tryin'  for  ye  ; 
we  maun  hae  oor  half  oor  afore  the  roup 
begins." 

Burnbrae  and  Jean  never  said  a  word  about 


A   DISPLENISHING   SALE  73 

such  secret  things,  and  indeed  there  was  not  in 
them  a  trace  of  Pharisee,  but  their  children  and 
the  serving  folk  knew  why  the  old  people  al- 
ways disappeared  after  the  midday  meal. 

"  It  *s  a  black  shame,"  said  Bell  to  her  neigh- 
bour as  they  cut  up  cheese  for  the  roup,  "  tae 
cast  sic  a  gude  man  oot  o'  his  hame ;  deil  tak' 
them  that  dae  't." 

"  Be  quiet,  wumman,  or  the  maister  'ill  hear 
ye  ;  but  ye  're  richt  aboot  whar  they  'ill  gang 
for  meddling  wi'  the  elder" — for  they  had  not 
learned  the  Shorter  Catechism,  without  profit, 
in  Drumtochty. 

When  Brunbrae  went  out  again,  Jock  Con- 
stable had  arrived,  and  an  old  mare  was  being 
run  up  and  down  the  field  at  such  speed  as  a 
limp  allowed. 

"  Keep  her  rinnin',  laddie,"  Jock  was  shout- 
ing from  the  middle  of  the  fat  cattle;  "  she 'ill 
be  as  soople  as  a  three-year-auld  afore  the  fouk 
come." 

"  What 's  this  ye  're  aifter  wi'  the  mare, 
Jock?" 

"  Doctoring  her  stiffness,  Burnbrae ;  it  wears 
aff  as  sune  as  she  gets  warm,  and  the  fouk 
micht  as  weel  see  her  at  her  best. 


74  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

"  It  'ill  pit  a  five-pund  note  on  her,"  continued 
Jock,  "  an'  a  'm  no  tae  gie  a  warranty  wi'  ony- 
thing  the  day. 

"  Man,  hoo  did  ye  no  get  the  wricht  tae  gie 
those  cairts  a  lick  o'  pent  ?  They  did  it  at  Pit- 
foodles,  and  there  wes  an  auld  corn  cairt  went 
aff  for  new." 

"  Ye  may  dae  what  ye  like  at  Pitfoodles,  but 
ye  '11  play  nae  tricks  here,  Jock,"  and  Burnbrae's 
eye  had  a  dangerous  gleam  ;  "  gin  ye  dinna  tell 
the  fouk  that  the  mare  hes  a  titch  o'  '  grease' 
on  her  aff  hind-leg,  a  '11  dae  it  masel." 

Jock  was  much  dashed,  for  he  had  intended 
some  other  legitimate  improvements,  and  he 
carried  his  wrongs  to  Drumsheugh. 

"  There  's  sic  a  thing  as  bein'  ower  gude,  an* 
a'  dinna  see  ony  use  in  startin'  this  roup  ;  he 
micht  as  weel  fling  awa'  his  gear  tae  the  first 
bidder.  Wull  ye  believe  it/'  said  Jock,  in  bit- 
terness of  soul,  "  that  he  hesna  providit  a  drop 
o'  speerits,  an'  is  gaein'  tae  offer  the  fouk  tea 
an'  lime-juice — lime-juice,"  and  Jock  dwelt  on 
the  word  with  scathing  scorn. 

"  Did  ye  ever  hear  o'  a  roup  comin'  aff  on 
sic  like  drink  ?  It  's  fifteen  year  sin  a'  took  tae 
the  unctioneerin'  trade,  an'  a'  tell  ye  nae  man 


A   DISPLENISHING   SALE  75 

'ill  gie  a  bid  worth  mentionin'  till  he  's  hed  his 
tastin',  an'  there 's  nae  spunk  afore  the  third 
glass. 

''  Noo  there  wes  Pitfoodles  roup,"  exclaimed 
Jock,  harking  back  to  high-water  mark  ;  "  if  a' 
didna  send  roond  the  glesses  sax  times,  an' 
afore  a'  wes  ower  Lochlands  bocht  a  geizened 
(leaky)  water-cairt  withoot  wheels  for  aucht 
pund  twal  shillings,  an'  it  's  lying  at  Pitfoodles 
till  this  day.  Ye  'ill  no  see  a  roup  like  that 
twice  in  a  generation.  Lime-juice — it 's  a  clean 
temptin'  o'  Providence." 

"  Ye  needna  get  in  a  feery-farry  (commotion), 
Jock,"  said  Drumsheugh,  eyeing  the  little  man 
severely ;  "  the  'ill  be  nae  call  for  speerits  the 
day.  A  'm  no  a  jidge  o*  lime-juice  masel,  but 
it  'ill  dae  as  weel  as  onything  else,  or  water  itsel 
for  that  maitter. 

"  Pitfoodles  !  Man,  it  'ill  no  be  mentioned 
wi'  the  prices  ye  'ill  get  at  Burnbrae,  or  a'  dinna 
ken  Drumtochty." 

"  Div  ye  mean  that  Drumtochty 's  gaein'  tae 
stand  in?"  said  Jock,  much  cheered. 

"  A'  mean  what  a'  say,  an'  the  suner  ye  begin 
the  better.  Ye  'ill  be  takin'  the  potatoes  first," 
and   the  gait  of    Drumsheugh    as    he    moved 


76  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

off   was  that   of   a  general  on  the   morning  of 
battle. 

The  dealers  from  Muirtown  and  outlying 
strangers  from  Kildrummie  bore  themselves 
after  the  time-honoured  manners  of  a  roup— a 
fine  blend  of  jocose  gaiety  and  business  curi- 
osity ;  but  the  Glen  and  stragglers  from  the 
upper  districts  were  not  in  a  roup  mood,  and 
seemed  to  have  something  on  their  minds. 
They  greeted  Burnbrae  respectfully,  and  took 
a  spare  refreshment  with  marked  solemnity. 
Their  very  faces  chilled  Jock  when  he  began 
operations,  and  reduced  to  hopeless  confusion 
an  opening  joke  he  had  prepared  on  the  way 
from  Kildrummie.  This  severity  was  hard  on 
Jock,  for  he  was  understood  to  have  found  his 
role  in  auctioneering,  and  a  roup  was  the  great 
day  of  his  life.  He  was  marked  out  for  his 
office  by  the  fact  that  he  had  been  twice  bank- 
rupt as  a  farmer,  and  by  a  gift  of  speech  which 
bordered  on  the  miraculous.  There  were  times 
when  he  was  so  carried  on  political  questions 
in  the  Muirtown  Inn  that  the  meat  flew  from 
the  end  of  his  fork,  and  a  Drumtochty  man, 
with  an  understood  reference  to  Jock's  elo- 
quence, could  only  say  "  Sail"  at  the  Junction, 


A   DISPLENISHING   SALE  77 

to  which  another  would  reply,  "  He  's  an  awfu' 
wratch."  This  tribute  to  Jock's  power  rested, 
as  is  evident,  less  on  the  exact  terms  of  the 
eulogy  than  on  his  monopoly  of  the  Drum- 
tochty  imagination  for  two  hours.  His  adroit- 
ness in  throwing  strong  points  into  relief  and 
infirmities  into  the  shade,  as  well  as  his  accu- 
rate knowledge  of  every  man's  farming  affairs 
and  his  insight  into  their  peculiarities  as  buy- 
ers, were  almost  Satanic.  People  who  did  not 
intend  to  buy,  and  would  have  received  no 
credit  if  they  had,  went  to  hear  Jock  sell- 
ing a  horse,  and  left  fully  rewarded.  In- 
deed, if  Whinnie  suddenly  chuckled  on  the 
way  home,  and  did  not  proceed  farther  than 
"  It  cowes  a',"  he  was  understood  to  be  chew- 
ing the  cud  of  Jock's  humour,  and  was  excused 
from  impossible  explanations. 

Jock  referred  to  the  Burnbrae  roup  as  long 
as  he  lived,  and  gave  incidents  with  dramatic 
force  in  the  train,  but  every  one  knows  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  its  success. 

"  Ye  needna  waste  time  speaking  the  day, 
Jock,"  Drumsheugh  advised  before  they  began 
on  the  potatoes ;  "  pit  up  the  articles,  and  we 
'ill  see  tae  the  bids."     Which  Drumtochty  did 


78  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

without  one  slack  moment,  from  the  potatoes, 
which  fetched  one  pound  an  acre  more  than 
had  been  known  in  the  parish,  to  a  lot  of  old 
iron  which  a  Kildrummie  blacksmith  got  at 
something  under  cost  price.  People  hesitated 
to  award  praise  where  all  had  done  well,  but 
the  obstinacy  of  Hillocks,  which  compelled  a 
Muirtown  horse-dealer  to  give  forty-two  pounds 
for  a  young  horse,  and  Whinnie's  part  in  raising 
the  prices  for  fat  cattle,  are  still  mentioned. 
When  Jock  came  down  from  his  table  in  the 
field,  he  was  beyond  speech,  and  Drumtochty 
regarded  Drumsheugh  with  unfeigned  admira- 
tion. 

"Gude  nicht  tae  ye,  Burnbrae,"  said  that 
great  man,  departing ;  "  if  ye  hae  tae  gang  it 
'ill  no  be  empty-handed,"  and  although  Burn- 
brae did  not  understand  all,  he  knew  that  his 
neighbours  had  stood  by  him  without  stint 
that  day. 

For  an  hour  the  buyers  were  busy  conveying 
away  their  goods,  till  at  last  the  farm  had  been 
stripped  of  all  the  animal  hfe  that  had  made  it 
glad,  and  those  familiar  articles  that  were  each  a 
link  with  the  past.  Burnbrae  wandered  through 
the  staring  sheds,  the  silent  stable,  the  empty 


A    DISPLENISHING    SALE  79 

granary,  and  then  he  bethought  him  of  his 
wife.  When  her  kirn  was  put  up  he  had  been 
moved  by  a  sudden  emotion  and  bought  it 
back,  and  he  saw  her  face  for  an  instant  be- 
tween the  bushes  of  the  garden.  Where  was 
Jean?  He  sought  her  in  the  house,  in  the 
garden,  and  could  not  find  her.  Then  he 
heard  the  rattle  of  a  chain  in  one  of  the  byres, 
and  understood.  Jean's  favourite  cow  had  been 
kept,  and  she  was  sitting  in  the  stall  with  her, 
as  one  left  desolate.  When  Burnbrae  entered, 
Brownie  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him 
with  an  intelligent  understanding  in  her  soft, 
motherly  eyes. 

"  She  's  a'  that 's  left  o'  ma  byre,"  and  Jean 
burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping.  "  Ye  mind 
hoo  they  deed  in  the  rinder-pest  ane  by  ane, 
and  were  buried  ;  juist  Brownie  cam  through, 
and  noo  she  's  alane  again. 

"  That  wes  the  judgment  o'  the  Almichty, 
and  we  daurna  complain,  but  this  wes  the  doin' 
o'  man,  an'  ma  hert  is  bitter. 

"A'  the  beasts  a'  reared,  an'  the  gear  we 
githered,  a'  sold  and  carried  off,  till  there  's  nae 
soond  heard  in  the  hooses,  nae  wark  tae 
dae." 


8o  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

Burnbrae  sat  down  and  flung  his  arm  round 
her,  and  as  the  two  old  heads  were  bent  to- 
gether, the  gentle  animal  beside  them  missed 
her  companions  and  moaned. 

After  a  while  Burnbrae  began  : 

"  It  's  a  shairp  trial,  wife,  an'  hard  tae  bear. 
But  dinna  forget  oor  mercies.  We  hae  oor 
fower  laddies  left  us,  an'  a'  daein'  weel. 

"We  oucht  tae  be  thankfu'  that  Sandie 's 
been  kept  in  the  battle.  Think  o*  yir  son  win- 
nin'  the  Victoria  Cross,  wumman,  an*  ye  'ill  see 
it  on  his  breist. 

"  An'  oor  lassie 's  safe,  Jean  ...  in  the 
Auld  Hame,  an'  ...  we  'ill  sune  be  gaein' 
oorsels  an'  .  .  .  the  'ill  be  nae  pairtin' 
there. 

"  Ye  hae  me,  Jean,  an'  a'  hae  ma  ain  gude 
wife,  an'  luve  is  mair  than  a'  the  things  a  man 
can  see  wi'  his  een  or  haud  in  his  hands.  Sae 
dinna  be  cast  doon,  lass,  for  nae  hand  can  touch 
oor  treasures  or  tak  awa'  oor  luve." 

When  Jean  was  comforted,  Burnbrae  gath- 
ered his  household  together  in  the  kitchen,  and 
he  chose  the  portion  from  the  tenth  chapter 
of  St.  Matthew's  Gospel : 

"  Whosoever  therefore  shall  confess  Me  be- 


A   DISPLENISHING   SALE  8i 

fore  men,  him   will   I  confess  also  before  my 
Father  which  is  in  heaven." 

As  Burnbrae  read  the  last  words  he  lifted  up 
his  head,  and  it  seemed  even  unto  the  serving 
girls  as  if  he  had  received  a  crown. 


IV 

THE   APPEAL   TO   C^SAR 

They  had  the  right  to  occupy  their  old  home 
till  Martinmas,  but  Jean  had  begun  to  fret, 
wandering  through  the  empty  "  houses "  and 
brooding  over  the  coming  trial. 

"  A'  canna  help  it,  John  ;  the  Almichty 
made  a  woman  different  from  a  man,  an'  the  'ill 
be  nae  peace  for  me  till  we  be  oot  o'  Burnbrae. 

"  Ma  wark  here  's  feenished,  an'  it 's  no  like 
hame  ony  mair.  A'  wish  the  flittin*  were  ower 
an'  you  an'  me  were  settled  whar  we  'ill  end  oor 
days." 

Burnbrae  had  found  a  little  place  near  Kil- 
drummie  that  would  leave  him  within  reach  of 
his  kirk,  which  he  had  loved  at  a  great  cost, 
and  his  old  neighbours,  to  whom  he  was  knit 
with  n«w  ties. 


THE  APPEAL  TO   C^SAR  83 

"  The  Word  can  come  onywhere  tae  the  hert, 
an'  the  angel  o'  His  Presence  'ill  aye  be  wi'  us, 
Jean,  but  there  's  nae  place  whar  the  Evangel 
'ill  ever  soond  sae  sweet  as  in  the  Free  Kirk  o' 
Drumtochty. 

'■  We  'ill  traivel  up  as  lang  as  we  're  able,  and 
see  oor  friends  aince  a  week.  It  'ill  dae  us 
gude,  wumman,  tae  get  a  handshak  frae  Neth- 
erton  and  Donald  Menzies,  an'  Lachlan  himsel, 
though  he  be  a  stiff  chiel  "  (for  this  was  before 
the  transformation). 

"  Forbye  the  Auld  Kirk  folk,  for  a'  dinna 
deny,  Jean,  aifter  a'  that 's  happened,  that  it  'ill 
be  pleasant  tae  meet  them  comin'  wast,  wi' 
Drumsheugh  at  their  head. 

"  Ma  hert 's  warm  tae  a'  body  in  the  Glen, 
and  a'  ken  they  'ill  no  forget  us,  Jean,  in  oor  bit 
hoosie  at  Kildrummie." 

One  Thursday  afternoon — the  flitting  was  to 
be  on  Monday — Burnbrae  came  upon  Jean  in 
the  garden,  digging  up  plants  and  packing 
them  tenderly  with  wide  margins  of  their  na- 
tive earth. 

"A'  cudna  leave  them,  John,  an'  they  'ill  mak 
oor  new  gairden  mair  hame-like.  The  pinks 
are   cuttin's   a'  set  masel,  an'  the  fuchsias  tae, 


84  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

an'  Jeannie  carried  the  can  and  watered  them 
that  simmer  afore  she  deed. 

"  When  Peter  Robertson  wes  warnin'  us  no 
tae  meddle  wi'  ony  fixture  for  fear  o'  the  fac- 
tor, a'  askit  him  aboot  the  floors,  an'  he  said, 
'  Gin  a'  hed  plantit  them  masel,  they  micht  be 
lifted.'  Gude  kens  a'  did,  every  ane,  though 
it 's  no  mony  we  can  tak  ;  but  preserve  's,  wha  's 
yon  ?" 

It  was  not  needful  to  ask,  for  indeed  only 
one  man  in  the  parish  could  walk  with  such 
grave  and  stately  dignity,  and  that  because  his 
father  and  grandfather  had  been  parish  minis- 
ters before  him. 

"  This  is  rael  neeburly.  Doctor,  an'  like  yer- 
sel  tae  come  up  afore  we  left  the  auld  place. 
Ye  're  welcome  at  Burnbrae  as  yir  father  wes  in 
ma  father's  day.  Ye  heard  that  we  're  fhttin' 
on  Monday?" 

"  Ye  're  not  away  yet,  Burnbrae,  you  're  not 
away  yet ;  it 's  not  so  easy  to  turn  out  a  Drum- 
tochty  man  as  our  English  factor  thought : 
we  're  a  stiff  folk,  and  our  roots  grip  fast. 

"  He  was  to  rule  this  parish,  and  he  was  to 
do  as  he  pleased  with  honest  men ;  we  '11  see 
who  comes  off  best   before   the  day  is  done," 


THE  APPEAL  TO   C^SAR  8$ 

and  the  Doctor  struck  his  stick,  the  stick  of 
office  with  the  golden  head,  on  the  gravel  in 
triumph. 

"You  've  just  come  in  time,  Mrs.  Baxter'*— 
For  Jean  had  been  putting  herself  in  order — 
"  for  I  want  to  give  you  a  bit  of  advice.  Do 
not  lift  any  more  of  your  plants — it  's  bad  for 
their  growth  ;  and  I  rather  think  }'ou  '11  have  to 
put  them  back." 

Jean  came  close  to  Burnbrae's  side,  and 
watched  the  Doctor  without  breathing  while 
he  placed  the  stick  against  a  bush,  and  put  on 
his  eye-glasses  with  deliberation,  and  opened 
out  a  telegram  and  read  aloud  :  "  '  Paris.  Your 
letter  found  me  at  last ;  leave  London  for 
home  Thursday  morning;  tell  Burnbrae  to 
meet  me  in  Muirtown  on  Friday.  Kilspin- 
die.' 

"  My  letter  went  to  Egypt  and  missed  him, 
but  better  late  than  never,  Burnbrae  ,  .  .  that 's 
a  wonderful  plant  you  have  there,  Mrs.  Baxter," 
and  he  turned  aside  to  study  a  hydrangea  Jean 
had  set  out  in  the  sun ;  for  with  all  his  pom- 
pous and  autocratic  ways,  the  Doctor  was  a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school. 

When    he    departed    and    Jean   had    settled 


86  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

down,  Burnbrae  thought  it  wise  to  moderate 
her  joy  lest  it  should  end  in  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. 

"  The  Doctor  hes  dune  his  pairt,  and  it  wes 
kind  o'  him  tae  come  up  himsel  ane  's  errand 
tae  tell  us.  Ye  didna  see  his  face  aifter  he  read 
the  message,  but  it  wes  worth  seein'.  There  's 
no  a  soonder  hert  in  the  Glen. 

"  A'  kent  this  thing  wudna  hae  happened  gin 
his  Lordship  hed  been  at  hame,  an'  a  'm  thinkin 
■he  wud  dae  his  best  tae  repair  it. 

"  Maybe  he  'ill  gie  's  the  first  chance  o*  a 
vacant  fairm,  but  a'  doot  we  maun  leave  Burn- 
brae ;  they  say  'at  it  's  as  gude  as  let  tae  a 
Netheraird  man." 

"  Dinna  say  that,  John,  for  it  *s  "\o  anither 
fairm,  it  's  Burnbrae  a'  want.  A  '11  be  watchin' 
the  mornin's  evening  when  ye  come  up  the 
road,  an'  a  '11  see  ye  turnin'  the  corner.  Ye  '11 
wave  yir  airm  tae  me  gin  a'  be  richt,  an'  Jean- 
nie's  floors  'ill  be  back  in  their  beds  afore  ye  be 
hame." 

When  Burnbrae  appeared  at  Kildrummie 
station  next  morning,  Drumtochty,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  there  in  force  on  their  last  Muir- 
town  visit  before  harvest,  compassed  him  with 


THE  APPEAL  TO   C^SAR  87 

observances,  putting  him  in  the  corner  seat, 
and  emphasising  his  territorial  designation. 

"  That  wes  michty  news  aboot  the  Sergeant, 
Burnbrae,"  began  Jamie  Soutar;  "it  spiled  a 
nicht's  sleep  tae  me  readin'  hoo  he  stude  ower 
the  Colonel  and  keepit  the  Afghans  at  bay  till 
the  regiment  rallied.  Wes  't  four  or  sax  he 
focht  single-handed  ?  " 

"  He  barely  mentioned  the  maitter  in  his 
letters,  but  his  captain  Avrote  tae  the  gude  wife, 
which  wes  rael  thochtfu* ;  he  made  it  sax,  an' 
he  said  the  regiment  wes  prood  o'  Sandie." 
For  an  instant  Burnbrae  drew  himself  up  in  his 
corner,  and  then  he  added,  "  But  it  *s  no  for 
his  father  tae  be  speakin'  this  wy.  Sandie  did 
naethin'  but  his  duty." 

"For  doonricht  leein',''  said  Jamie  medita- 
tively, "  a'  never  kent  the  marra  (equal)  o'  thae 
London  papers ;  they  made  oot  that  Sandie  wes 
a  hero,  and  we  cleaned  the  Muirtown  book-stall 
lest  Friday  a  week.  A'  never  saw  the  Kil- 
drummie  train  in  sic  speerits ;  it  's  awfu'  hoo 
country  fouk  are  deceived." 

"Piggie  Walker  cam  up  on  Monday"  (Hil- 
locks seemed  to  be  addressing  some  person 
above   Burnbrae's  head),   "  and    he  wes  tellin' 


88  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

me  they  hed  a  by-ordinar'  sermon  frae  the 
student.  *  A  wished  Burnbrae  hed  been  there,' 
Piggie  said ;  '  he  wes  boond  tae  be  Hfted. 
He  'ill  sune  hae  a  kirk,  yon  lad,  an'  a  gude  ane.' 
Piggie  's  a  body,  but  he  's  coonted  the  best 
jidge  o'  sermons  in  Kildrummie." 

Drumsheugh  alone  did  not  join  in  those 
kindly  efforts,  but  struck  out  a  manner  of  his 
own,  chuckling  twice  without  relevancy,  and 
once  growing  so  red  that  Hillocks  ran  over  his 
family  history  to  estimate  the  risk  of  a  "  seiz- 
ure. 

"Is  that  you,  Burnbrae?  Come  in,  man; 
come  in.  It  's  a  pleasure  to  see  a  Drumtochty 
face  again  after  those  foreign  fellows,"  and 
Lord  Kilspindie  gripped  his  tenant's  hand  in 
the  factor's  office.  "  Sit  down  and  give  me  all 
your  news. 

"  Th  'ill  be  no  speaking  to  Mrs.  Baxter  now 
after  this  exploit  of  the  Sergeant's  !  When  I 
read  it  on  my  way  home  I  was  as  proud  as  if 
he  had  been  my  own  son.  It  was  a  gallant 
deed,  and  well  deserves  the  Cross.  He  'ill  be 
getting  his  commission  some  day.  Lieutenant 
]-?axter !     That  'ill  stir  the  Glen,  eh  ? 

*'  But   what  is  this    I    hear  of  your  leaving 


THE  APPEAL  TO  C^SAR  89 

Burnbrae  ?  I  don't  like  losing  old  tenants,  and 
I  thought  you  would  be  the  last  to  flit." 

"  Did  the  factor  not  tell  you,  my  Lord " 

"  I  've  only  seen  him  for  five  minutes,  and  he 
said  it  had  nothing  to  do  \vith  rent ;  it  was 
some  religious  notion  or  other.     Is  that  so  ?" 

"  The  fairm  is  worth  thirty  pund  mair  rent, 
an'  a'  wud  hae  paid  saxty  rather  than  leave  my 
auld  hame  ;  but  the  factor  made  it  a  condeetion 
tae  gie  up  ma  kirk." 

"  Well,  Burnbrae,  I  never  thought  you  would 
have  left  me  for  a  matter  of  kirks.  Could  you 
not  have  stretched  a  point  for  auld  lang 
syne  ?"  and  Kilspindie  looked  hard  at  the  old 
man. 

"  Ma  Lord,  there  's  naething  a'  wudna  hae 
dune  to  stay  in  Burnbrae  but  this  ae  thing. 
Ye  hae  been  a  gude  landlord  tae  me  as  the  auld 
Earl  wes  tae  ma  father,  an'  it  'ill  never  be  the 
same  tae  me  again  on  anither  estate  ;  but  ye 
maunna  ask  me  tae  gang  back  on  ma  con- 
science." 

The  tears  came  to  Burnbrae's  eyes,  and  he 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"  A'  thocht,"  he  said,  "^when  yir  message 
cam,  that  maybe  ye  hed  anither  mind  than  yir 


90  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

factor,  and  wud  send  me  back  tae  Jean  wi'  guid 
news  in  ma  mooth. 

"  Gin  it  be  yir  wuU  that  we  flit,  a  '11  mak  nae 
mair  complaint,  an'  there  's  nae  bitterness  in 
ma  hert.  But  a'  wud  like  ye  tae  ken  that  it  'ill 
be  a  sair  pairtin*. 

"  For  twa  hundred  years  an'  mair  there  's  been 
a  Baxter  at  Burnbrae  and  a  Hay  at  Kilspindie ; 
ane  wes  juist  a  workin'  farmer,  an'  the  ither  a 
belted  earl,  but  gude  freends  an'  faithfu',  an'^ 
ma  Lord,  Burnbrae  wes  as  dear  tae  oor  fouk  as 
the  castle  wes  tae  yours. 

"  A'  mind  that  day  the  Viscount  cam  o'  age, 
an'  we  gaithered  tae  wush  him  weel,  that  a'  saw 
the  pictures  o'  the  auld  Hays  on  yir  walls,  an' 
thocht  hoo  mony  were  the  ties  that  bund  ye  tae 
yir  hame. 

"  We  haena  pictures  nor  gouden  treasures, 
but  there  's  an'  auld  chair  at  oor  fireside,  an'  a' 
saw  ma  grandfather  in  it  when  a'  wes  a  laddie 
at  the  schule,  an'  a'  mind  him  tellin'  me  that  his 
grandfather  hed  sat  in  it  lang  afore.  It 's  no 
worth  muckle,  an'  it 's  been  often  mended,  but 
a  '11  no  like  tae  see  it  carried  oot  frae  Burnbrae. 

"  There  is  a  Bible,  tae,  that  hes  come  doon, 
father  tae  son,  frae  1690,  and  ilka  Baxter  hes 


THE   APPEAL   TO   C^SAR  91 

written  his  name  in  it,  an' '  farmer  at  Burnbrae,' 
but  it  'ill  no  be  dune  again,  for  oor  race  'ill  be 
awa  frae  Burnbrae  for  ever. 

"  Be  patient  wi'  me,  ma  Lord,  for  it 's  the 
lest  time  we  're  like  tae  meet,  an'  there  's  anither 
thing  a'  want  tae  say,  for  it 's  heavy  on  ma 
hert. 

"  When  the  factor  told  me  within  this  verra 
room  that  we  maun  leave,  he  spoke  o'  me  as  if 
a*  hed  been  a  lawless  man,  an'  it  cut  me  mair 
than  ony  ither  word. 

"  Ma  Lord,  it 's  no  the  men  that  fear  their 
God  that  'ill  brak  the  laws,  an'  a  ken  nae  Baxter 
that  wes  ither  than  a  loyal  man  tae  his  King  and 
country. 

"  Ma  uncle  chairged  wi'  the  Scots  Greys  at 
Waterloo,  and  a'  mind  him  tellin',  when  a'  wes 
a  wee  laddie,  hoo  the  Hielanders  cried  oot, 
'  Scotland  for  ever,'  as  they  passed. 

**  I  needna  tell  ye  aboot  ma  brither,  for  he 
wes  killed  by  yir  side  afore  Sebastopol,  and  the 
letter  ye  send  tae  Burnbrae  is  keepit  in  that 
Bible  for  a  heritage. 

"A '11  mention  naethin'  aither  o'  ma  ain 
laddie,  for  ye  've  said  mair  than  wud  be  richt 
for  me,  but  we  coont  it  hard  that  when  oor 


92  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

laddie  lies  shed  his  blude  like  an  honest  man 
for  his  Queen,  hisauld  father  and  mither  sud  be 
driven  frae  the  hame  their  forbears  hed  for 
seeven  generations." 

Lord  Kilspindie  rose  to  his  feet  at  the  men- 
tion of  Sebastopol,  and  now  went  over  to  the 
window  as  one  who  wished  to  hide  his  face. 

"  Dinna  be  angry  with  me,  ma  Lord,  nor 
think  a'm  boastin',  but  a  cudna  thole  that  ye 
sud  think  me  a  lawbreaker,  wha  cared  naither 
for  kirk  nor  commonweal,"  and  still  his  Lord- 
ship did  not  move. 

"  It  gaes  tae  ma  hert  that  we  sud  pairt  in  an- 
ger, an'  if  a  've  said  mair  than  a'  oucht,  it  wesin 
sorrow,  for  a  'II  never  forget  hoo  lang  ma  fouk 
hae  lived  on  yir  land,  and  hoo  gude  ye  hae 
been  tae  me,"  and  Burnbrae  turned  to  the  door. 

"  You  're  the  dullest  man  in  all  Drumtochty," 
cried  Kilspindie,  wheeling  round — one  might 
have  fancied  .  .  .  but  that  is  absurd — "  and  the 
truest.  Did  you  think  that  a  Hay  would  let  a 
Baxter  go  for  all  the  kirks  that  ever  were  built  ? 
You  supposed  that  I  wanted  you  to  play  the 
knave  for  your  farm,  and  this  was  the  news  you 
were  to  carry  home  to  Jean ;  it 's  too  bad  of 
you,  Burnbrae." 


THE  APPEAL  TO  CAESAR  93 


"  Ma  Lord,  a'  ...  ye  kcn- 


•'  It 's  all  right,  and  I  'm  only  joking  ;  and  the 
play  was  carried  on  a  bit  too  long  for  both  of 
us,  but  I  wanted  to  hear  your  own  mind  upon 
this  matter,"  and  Kilspindie  called  for  the  fac- 
tor. 

"  Is  the  Burnbrae  lease  drawn  up?" 

"  It  is,  at  an  adv'ance  of  sixty  pounds,  and 
I  've  got  a  man  who  will  sign  it,  and  says  he  will 
give  no  trouble  about  kirks  ;  in  fact,  he  '11  just 
do  .  .   .  ah  .   .  .  well,  whatever  we  tell  him." 

"  Quite  so  ;  most  satisfactory  sort  of  man. 
Then  you  '11  reduce  the  rent  to  the  old  figure, 
and  put  in  the  name  of  John  Baxter,  and  let  it 
be  for  the  longest  period  we  ever  give  on  the 
estate." 

"  But,  Lord  Kilspindie  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  did  you 
know " 

"  Do  as  I  command  you  without  another 
word,"  and  his  Lordship  was  fearful  to  behold. 
"  Bring  the  lease  here  in  ten  minutes,  and  place 
it  in  Mr.  Baxter's  hands.  What  I  've  got  to 
say  to  you  will  keep  till  afterwards. 

■'  Sit  down,  old  friend,  sit  down  ;  ...  it  was 
my  blame.  ...  I  ought  to  be  horse-whipped. 
.  .  .  Drink  a  little  water.     You  're  better  now. 


94  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

...  I  '11  go  and  see  that  fellow  has  no  tricks  in 
the  conditions."  But  he  heard  Burnbrae  say 
one  word  to  himself,  and  it  was  "  Jean." 

"  There  are  mony  things  a'  wud  like  tae  say, 
ma  Lord,"  said  Burnbrae  before  he  left,  "  but  a 
full  hert  maks  few  words.  Gin  lifting  a  dark 
cloud  aff  the  life  o'  a  family  an'  fillin'  twa  auld 
fouk  wi'  joy  'ill  gie  ony  man  peace,  ye  'ill  sleep 
soond  this  nicht  in  yir  castle. 

"  When  ye  pass  below  Burnbrae  on  yir  way 
to  the  Lodge  and  see  the  smoke  curlin'  up 
through  the  trees,  ye  'ill  ken  a  family  's  livin' 
there  that  bless  yir  name,  and  will  mention  it 
in  their  prayers." 

The  first  man  Burnbrae  met  when  he  came 
out  with  the  lease  in  his  pocket  was  Drums- 
heugh,  whose  business  that  particular  day  had 
kept  him  wandering  up  and  down  the  street 
for  nearly  an  hour. 

"  Keep's  a',  Burnbrae,  is  that  you?  a'  thocht 
ye  were  dune  wi'  that  office  noo.  It  s  a  puir 
market  the  day ;  the  dealers  are  getting  the  fat 
cattle  for  naethin'."  But  Drumsheugh's  man- 
ner had  lost  its  calm  finish. 

"  A  've  something  tae  tell,"  said  Burnbrae, 
"  an'  ye  sud  be  the  first  tae  hear  it.     Lord  Kil- 


THE   APPEAL   TO    C^SAR  95 

spindie  's  hame  again,  and  hes  settled  me  and 
mine  in  the  auld  place  for  a  tack  that  'ill  laist 
ma  days  and  descend  tae  ma  son  aifter 
me. 

"  This  hes  been  a  shairp  trial,  and  there  were 
times  a'  wes  feared  ma  faith  micht  fail ;  but  it's 
ower  noo,  and  there  's  twa  men  Jean  an'  me  'ill 
remember  wi'  gratitude  till  we  dee  ;  ane  is  Doc- 
tor Davidson  an'  the  ither  is  yersel.  Ye  brocht 
us  through  atween  ye." 

"  Come  awa  this  meenut  tae  the  '  Kilspindie 
Airms,*  "  and  Drumsheugh  seized  Burnbrae ; 
"  a'  ken  ye  wunna  taste,  but  a  '11  dae  it  for  ye  ; 
and  ye  'ill  eat,  at  ony  rate,"  and  Drumsheugh, 
who  was  supposed  to  dine  in  secret  places  at 
not  more  than  a  shilling,  ordered  a  dinner  fit 
for  Lord  Kilspindie.  He  did  his  best  to  get 
full  value  for  his  money,  but  before  and  after, 
and  between  the  courses,  he  let  himself  go  at 
large. 

"  Ane  and  twenty  year  at  a  hundred  and 
auchty  pund ;  man,  ye  'ill  have  eneuch  tae 
stock  a  fairm  for  Jamie  and  furnish  the  student's 
manse. 

"  His  Lordship  wes  lang  o'  comin'  hame,  but, 
ma  certes,  he  's  pit  things    richt  when    he    did 


96  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

come.  It 's  naethin'  short  o'  handsome,  an' 
worthy  o'  the  Earl. 

"  Me,"  resumed  Drumsheugh,  "  a'  hed  nae- 
thin' tae  dae  wi  't ;  it  wes  the  Doctor's  letter  'at 
did  the  business  ;  here  's  tae  his  health  ;  is  yir 
soda  water  dune  yet  ? 

"  The  factor  tried  tae  mak  licht  o'  him  that 
day,  an'  spak  as  if  he  wes  abune  a'  body  in 
Drumtochty;  he  threatened  the  minister  tae 
his  face  ;  a'  herd  him,  the  upsettin',  ill-mannered 
wratch. 

"  '  Dinna  be  cast  doon,'  says  the  Doctor  tae 
me  ootside  ;  'ye  hevna  seen  the  end  o'  this 
game.'  The  man  disna  live  'at  can  beat  the 
Doctor  when  his  birse  is  up,  an'  a'  never  saw 
him  sae  roosed  afore. 

"  Whar's  the  factor  noo  ?"  burst  out  Drums- 
heugh afresh.  "  Man,  a'  wud  hae  liked  tae  see 
him  when  he  brocht  in  the  lease.  '  I  wes  here 
before  ye,  and  I  will  be  here  aifter  ye,'  said  the 
Doctor.  It  'ill  come  true  ;  a'  gie  the  factor  a 
month,  no  anither  week. 

"  It  's  wersh  drink  ye  hae,  but  dinna  spare  it. 
This  is  no  an  ordinar'  day.  A'  wish  we  were 
at  the  Junction." 

Drumsheueh  restrained  himself  till  the  Dun- 


THE   APPEAL   TO    C^SAR  97 

leith  train  bad  fairly  gone — for  he  knev/  better 
than  to  anticipate  an  occasion — and  then  he 
gathered  Drumtochty  round  him. 

"  Ye  herd  that  the  factor  ordered  Burnbrae 
tae  leave  his  kirk,  weel,  it  'ill  be  a  while  or  he 
meddle  wi'  anither  man  :  an'  Burnbrae  wes  tae 
be  turned  oot  o'  his  fairm,  it's  the  factor,  a  'm 
judgin',  an'  no  Burnbrae,  'at  'ill  need  tae  seek  a 
hame ;  an'  the  factor  wudna  gie  a  lease  for  fif- 
teen year,  he  's  hed  tae  mak  it  oot  for  ane  and 
twenty :  an'  he  wudna  tak  a  rack  rent  o*  saxty 
pund  increase  tae  let  Burnbrae  bide  in  his 
hoose,  an'  his  Lordship  'ill  no  tak  a  penny 
mair  than  the  auld  rent.  That  's  ma  news, 
fouk,  an'  it 's  the  best  a  've  herd  for  mony  a 
day," 

Then  they  all  shook  hands  with  Burnbrae. 
from  Netherton  to  Peter  Bruce,  and  they 
called  in  an  outer  fringe  of  Kildrummie  to 
rejoice  with  them :  but  Burnbrae  could  only 
say: 

"  Thank  ye,  freends,  frae  ma  hert ;  ye  've 
been  gude  neeburs  tae  me  and  mine." 

"It's  been  a  michty  victory,"  said  Jamie 
Soutar.  as  they  moved  to  the  third,  "  but  a'  can 
see  drawbacks." 


98  FOR    CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

"Ay,  ay,"  which  was  a  form  of  inquiry  with 
Hillocks. 

"  Naebody  'ill  be  able  tae  tell  a  lee  or  play  a 
Judas  trick  in  Drumtochty  for  the  space  of  a 
generation." 


THE  REPLENISHING   OF   BURNBRAE 

When  Hillocks  arrived  at  the  kirkyard  on 
the  Sabbath  after  Csesar's  judgment,  he  found 
Jamie  Soutar  removing  the  last  trace  of  Burn- 
brae's  Displenishing  Sale  from  the  pillars  of 
the  gate. 

It  was  the  fragment  with  "  John  Baxter,  out- 
going tenant,"  and  Jamie  was  careful  to  pre- 
serve it  entire. 

"  It  'ill  be  a  relic,"  he  explained  afterwards 
to  the  fathers,  who  were  tasting  the  occasion 
in  a  pregnant  silence,  "  like  a  Russian  gun  frae 
Alma.  We  'ill  no  see  anither  fecht  like  it  in 
cor  day. 

"  Jock  wes  a  wee  hasty  wi'  his  '  out-going,* 
but  ye  cudna  expect  a  Kildrummie  man  tae 
ken  ony  better.  He  's  gotten  the  gift  o'  the 
gab  maist  awfu',  but  an  unctioneer  sudna  tak 
tae  propheceein' ;  it  's  no  cannie. 

"But  we  maunna  blame  Jock,  for  there  wes 


100  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

a  story  fleein'  aboot  that  the  factor  hed  got  a 
new  fairmer  for  Burnbrae ;  he  'ill  be  the  in- 
comin'  tenant,  a 'm  judgin' ;  he 'ill  be  comin* 
in  as  the  factor  gaes  oot. 

"  Speakin'  aboot  that,  hae  ye  herd  the  new 
factor's  name  ?  they  were  keepin'  it  quiet  on 
Friday,"  and  Jamie  looked  round  with  much 
interest. 

"  Ye 've  a  tongue,  Jamie,"  and  Drumsheugh 
laughed  aloud,  a  luxury  hardly  known  in  the 
Glen,  while  even  Gormack  himself  made  a  joy- 
ful noise  within  like  the  running  down  of  an 
eight-day  clock. 

"  It 's  an  ill  job  weel  ended,"  resumed  Hil- 
locks, recalling  the  fathers  to  sobriety,  ''  an' 
Burnbrae 's  gotten  his  fairm  back ;  but  it 's 
bare  the  day,  withoot  a  beast  tae  pit  in  the 
byres  this  winter,  or  a  ploo  tae  turn  the  stub- 
ble. 

"  Nae  doot  he  hed  a  graund  sale,  and  the  fat 
cattle  cowed  a'thing  for  price,  but  stockin'  ower 
again  '11  be  a  heavy  loss ;  it  's  a  terrible  peety 
his  lordship  wesna  hame  suner." 

Then  they  went  into  matters  thoroughly, 
and  Drumsheugh  gave  judgment. 

"  Gin  he  hed  back  his  implements,  and  Jean's 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  loi 

coos,  an'  some  o'  the  auld  horse,  an'  maybe  a 
dozen  stirk,  he  'd  come  oot  richt  aifter  a'  ;  a' 
didna  hear  the  dealers  boastin'  aboot  their 
bargains  laist  Friday,"  he  added  with  satisfac- 
tion. 

There  was  a  long  pause  in  the  conversation, 
during  which  Drumsheugh  examined  a  loose 
slate  on  the  roof  of  the  church  from  three  dif- 
ferent points  of  view,  and  Jamie  Soutar  re- 
freshed his  remembrance  of  a  neighbouring 
tombstone. 

"  Div  ye  mean  ?"  began  Whinnie,  but  broke 
off  at  the  contempt  in  Jamie's  eye. 

"  Sail,"  Hillocks  exclaimed  in  a  little. 
"  What  think  ye,  Gormack  ?" 

"  They  're  no  veeciously  inclined  fouk  in  the 
Glen,"  responded  that  worthy  man,  with  stud- 
ied moderation.  "  A'  wudna  say  but  it  micht 
be  dune.  Maist  o'  what  we  're  aifter  is  in  the 
Glen,  some  hole  or  ither.  It  wud  croon  a'," 
and  Gormack  began  to  warm. 

"  Nae  fear  o'  the  implements,"  said  Hillocks, 
in  full  scent,  "  nor  the  puckle  young  beasts, 
but  a  '11  no  be  satisfeed,  neeburs,  gin  the  gude 
wife  disna  get  back  her  byre  tae  the  last 
coo." 


I02  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

"  A  've  twa  stirks,"  interrupted  Whinnie, 
taking  in  the  situation  at  last. 

"  Haud  yir  tongue  till  a'  coont  up  the  kye," 
and  Hillocks  buckled  to  work. 

"  It 's  an  aucht  byre,  and  Jean  keepit  ane ; 
that  leaves  seeven  tae  collect ;  noo  a'  hae  twa 
masel,  an'  Netherton  bocht  the  quey ;  that 's 
three  a'  richt. 

"  Didna  ye  get  the  Angus  doddie,  Drums- 
heugh  ?  weel,  ye  'ill  no  be  hard  tae  deal  wi' ; 
an'  Bogie  took  anither — he  's  no  here,  but  he  's 
a  cautious  man,  Bogie  ;  there  's  nae  fear  o'  him. 
That 's  five. 

"  Whar 's  the  lave?  Ou  aye,  a'  mind  Mary 
Robertson  scrapit  up  eneuch  for  the  white  coo,  a 
fine  milker ;  it  wud  hardly  be  richt,  maybe,  tae 
ask  her " 

"  Ae  coo  as  gude 's  anither  tae  Mary,"  broke 
in  Drumsheugh.     "  A  '11  see  she  disna  lose." 

"Weel,  that's  a'  richt,"  Hillocks  went  on; 
"  and  we  've  juist  tae  find  anither,  and  that 's 
the  hale  hypothic." 

"  It 's  no  ill  tae  find,"  said  Jamie,  "  but  it  'ill 
beat  ye  tae  get  her." 

"Ye 're  no  meanin' — man, — ye  hev  it;  the 
body  did  buy  anc,  an'  he  'ill  be  wantin'  twa  or 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  103 

three  notes  on  the  bargain  ;  Milton  's  a  fair  scan- 
nal  in  the  Glen,"  and  Hillocks's  countenance,  a 
near  enough  man  in  season  himself,  was  full  of 
scorn. 

"A'm  astonished  at  ye,"  and  Jamie  eyed 
Hillocks  with  severity ;  "  div  ye  no  ken  that 
Milton  is  the  only  man  in  the  Glen  that  hes 
ony  licht  ava  ?  he  's  sae  releegious  that  a'  never 
herd  o'  him  daein'  a  dirty  trick,  but  his  con- 
science telt  him.  It  'ill  cost  five  notes  tae  mak 
his  duty  plain." 

"  If  Milton  disna  gie  back  the  beast  at  the 
roup  price,  in  the  circumstances " 

"  Aye,  aye,  Drumsheugh,"  said  Hillocks  en- 
couragingly. 

"  Weel,  he  needna  show  his  face  in  the  Kil- 
drummie  train,  that  's  a* ;  ye  have  yir  aucht 
complete  noo,  Hillocks,  an'  a  '11  cast  ma  mind 
ower  the  implements  in  the  sermon." 

"  A  '11  drive  doon  the  twa  stirks  the  morn's 
morn,"  for  Whinnie  was  anxious  to  show  his 
zeal. 

"Ye '11  dae  naethin'  o'  the  kind,"  responded 
Jamie.  "  Burnbrae's  plenishing  gaed  awa  in  a 
day,  and  it  'ill  gae  back  in  a  day.  Drumsheugh, 
ye  begun  the  wark,  and  ye  'ill  hae  tae  feenish  it." 


I04  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

"  A  '11  dae  the  Glen  by  Wednesday  nicht,  an' 
a'thing  'ill  need  tae  be  hame  by  Thursday,  or 
Burnbrae'ill  be  in  at  Muirtown  on  Friday 
githerin'  stock.  Ye  'ill  keep  a  quiet  tongue, 
neeburs." 

*'  Lippen  (trust)  tae  that,  Drumsheugh," 
Jamie  answered  ;  "  it 's  easier  than  speakin'  in 
Drumtochty." 

Drumsheugh  was  wrapped  in  thought  till  the 
Doctor  came  to  the  application,  when  his  face 
lightened,  and  he  took  snuff  with  leisurely  sat- 
isfaction. 

"  There  wes  a  set  o'  harrows,"  he  admitted 
to  Jamie  afterwards,  "  near  beat  me ;  they  're 
doon  Dunleith  wy,  but  a '11  haeahaud  o' them." 

For  three  days  the  Glen  was  full  of  mystery, 
and  the  latest  news  of  the  campaign  could  be 
had  at  the  smiddy. 

Saunders,  Drumsheugh's  foreman,  came  wath 
some  machine  teeth  on  Monday  evening,  and 
brought  the  first  intelligence. 

"  The  maister  's  in  frae  the  wast  end,  and 
he 's  no  hed  a  single  refusal ;  yon  Dunleith 
fairmer  that  cam  on  the  dun  sheltie  (pony)  wes 
that  pleased  at  Brunbrae  getting  his  fairm 
again,  he  offered  back  the  harrows  himsel,  and 


THE  REPLENISHING  OP^  BURNBRAE  105 

is  tae  send  up  a  single  ploo  an'  a  pair  o'  fanners 
'at  gied  doon  yon  wy. 

"  Drumsheugh  's  tae  be  oot  at  five  the  morn, 
an*  he  's  expeckin'  tae  sweep  the  Glen,"  and 
Saunders  struck  a  match  with  emphasis. 

"  It  beats  a',''  said  the  smith,  amazed  at 
Saunders's  continued  speech  ;  "  the  Glen  's  fair 
roosed." 

On  Wednesday  evening  Drumsheugh  was 
his  own  messenger,  but  would  only  speak  in 
parables, 

"  Gin  this  weather  keeps  on,  they  'ill  be 
cuttin'  roads  for  the  machines  by  the  end  o' 
the  week.  ...  A  11  need  tae  be  aff,  it 's  gettin* 
late,  and  a  've  hed  twa  days  o  't.  .  .  .  There  '^ 
a  fell  puckle  fairms  in  the  pairish,  aince  ye  gae 
roond  them.  .  .  . 

"  Na,  na,  there  's  waur  fouk  in  the  coonty 
than  oor  neeburs,"  and  now  every  one  listened 
with  both  his  ears  ;  "  the  fac  is,  there  's  no  ae 
disobleeging,  ill-condeetioned  wratch  in  Drum- 
tochty,  or  ane  that  wudna  dae  his  pairt  by  3 
gude  man."  Whereupon  the  smith  struck  a 
mighty  blow,  and  the  sparks  flew  to  the  roof  in 
celebration  of  a  great  achievement. 

"  It 's   a   broon    and   white    caufie    ye    hev. 


io6  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

smith,"  were  Drumsheugh's  last  words.  "Ye 
micht  bring  it  up  the  mornin's  aifternoon  aboot 
fower,  and  slip  it  intae  the  park  afore  the 
hoose." 

"  That 's  the  stiffest  job  Drumsheugh  ever 
pit  his  hand  tae,  an'  he's  dune  it  weel,"  and 
then  the  smith  meditated,  "hoo  did  he  ever 
get  roond  Milton  ?  " 

Hillocks  came  in  late  and  threw  some  light 
on  that  problem. 

"  A'  met  Drumsheugh  comin*  doon  frae 
Milton,  and  a*  lookit  at  him. 

"  '  The  'ill  be  nane  o'  Jean's  byre  missin'  the 
morn,  Hillocks.* 

"  That 's  a'  he  said,  but  his  face  wes  as  red  as 
the  harvest  mune,  and  you  wud  hae  thocht  tae 
see  his  walk  that  he  wes  the  Earl  o'  Kilspindie." 

Burnbrae  was  afterwards  arnazed  at  the  du- 
plicity of  Drumtochty,  which  compassed  him 
with  Hes  and  befooled  him  on  every  hand,  in 
his  local  efforts  to  restock  his  farm.  Hillocks 
declined  to  treat  for  restoration  till  he  knew 
how  prices  stood  on  Friday,  and  Netherton, 
his  fellow-elder,  was  doubtful  whether  he  could 
let  him  have  two  carts,  while  Drumsheugh  re- 
fused politely  but  firmly  to  cancel  his  purchase 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  107 

in  cows.  Drumtochty  was  triumphant  ovef 
Burnbrae's  victory,  and  full  of  sympathy  with 
him  in  his  position,  but  there  were  limits  to 
kindness,  and  the  Glen  meant  to  stick  by  their 
bargains. 

"  It 's  no  what  a'  wud  hae  expeckit  o'  the 
neeburs,  an'  least  o'  a'  frae  Drumsheugh,"  Jean 
complained,  as  she  sat  on  Thursday  afternoon 
in  the  garden.  Burnbrae  had  just  returned 
from  a  very  disappointing  visit  to  Donald  Men- 
zies,  who  expounded  a  recent  conflict  with  the 
devil  in  minute  detail,  but  would  not  come 
within  a  mile  of  business. 

"  We  maunna  judge  the  fouk  hardly,"  said 
Burnbrae  ;  "  a  bargain  's  a  bargain  ;  they  gave 
top  prices,  an'  nae  doot  they  wantit  what  they 
bocht.  They  did  their  pairt  at  the  roup,  an'  it 
wud  be  unreasonable  tae  ask  mair,"  but  Burn- 
brae was  inwardly  perplexed. 

An  hour  afterwards  James  Soutar  explained 
to  Jean  that  he  happened  to  be  passing,  and 
thought  he  would  give  them  "  a  cry,"  and  ended 
by  dragging  Burnbrae  off  to  the  most  distant 
field  on  the  farm  to  decide  when  a  patch  of  oats 
he  had  bought  in  the  roup  would  be  ready  for 
the  scythe.     He  then  settled  on  a  dyke,  and  for 


io8  FOR    CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

two  hours  fought  the  great  war  over  again  from 
beginning  to  end,  with  a  keen  dramatic  instinct 
and  an  amazing  flow  of  caustic  commentary. 

"  A  '11  no  deny,"  when  Burnbrae  compelled 
him  to  return  for  tea,  "that  a 'm  disappointed 
in  the  fouk  sin  laist  Friday.  They  micht  hae 
let  their  bargains  gae  an'  sent  ye  up  the  rough 
o'  the  stockin'. 

"  Noo  gin  a'  hed  been  the  like  o'  Drums- 
heugh,"  and  Jamie  again  came  to  a  halt,  "  a' 
wud  hae  scorned  tae  keep  onything  ye  needed, 
but  they  're  grippy,  there  's  nae  doot  o'  that,  in 
Drumtochty;  a 've  thocht  mony  a  time  ...  is 
yon  a  cairt  comin'  up  the  road? 

"  If  it  's  no  a  load  o'  implements  and  cairt- 
harness  !  It  *s  terribly  like  Saunders  frae  Drums- 
heugh,  but  there  's  nae  use  cryin',  for  he  'ill  no 
lat  on  he  hears. 

"  Sail,"  continued  Jamie,  as  they  struck  the 
track,  "  there  'sbeen  mair  than  ae  cairt  up  here  ; 
an'  a'  didna  see  ye  hed  cattle  in  the  gairden 
field  as  we  passed." 

"  Naither  a'  hev  ;  there  's  no  a  leevin'  beast  on 
the  place  forbye  puir  Brownie.  A'  canna  mak 
it  oot !  "  and  Burnbrae  quickened  his  steps. 

Donald  IMenzies's  son  passed  with  a  bridle,  as 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  109 

if  he  had  left  a  horse  behind  him.  and  Gormack 
met  them  on  horseback,  as  if  he  had  come  with 
a  cart,  but,  beyond  the  weather,  they  had 
nothing  to  say.  Whinnie  was  wrestling  with  two 
stirks  to  get  them  into  a  field — with  the  result 
that  one  went  up  the  road  and  another  down, 
after  the  manner  of  their  kind — and  had  no 
leisure  for  conversation.  A  large  roller  had 
stuck  in  the  last  gate,  and  young  Netherton 
was  not  in  a  mood  to  answer  questions. 

"  Ask  Drumsheugh,"  was  all  that  could  be  got 
out  of  him  as  he  backed  his  horse  first  one  way 
and  then  the  other. 

"Ma  opeenion,"  said  Jamie  solemnly,  "is 
that  Drumtochty  's  gaen  geit  (crazy).  Did  ye 
ever  see  the  like  o'  that  ?" 

The  farmhouse  and  other  buildings  made  a 
square,  and  Burnbrae  stood  beyond  speech  or 
motion  at  the  sight  which  met  his  eyes.  The 
"  ports"  of  the  cart-shed,  that  had  been  a  yawn^ 
ing  void  when  he  left,  were  filled  once  more 
with  two  carts  in  each — his  own  well-mended 
carts — the  one  behind,  with  the  trams  on  the 
ground  and  the  one  before,  suspended  from  the 
roof  by  the  chain  saddle  ;  and  if  Piggie  Walker 
was  not  unharnessing  a  pony  from  the  old  dog- 


no  FOR    CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

cart  in  the  turnip-shed.  The  greys  that  made 
the  second  pair— but  they  were  really  white — 
and  which  he  had  grudged  selling  far  more  than 
the  young  horses,  came  up  from  the  water  and 
went  sedately  into  the  stable.  Through  the 
door  he  could  see  that  Jean's  byre  was  nearly 
full,  and  outside  two  calves  had  settled  down  to 
supper  upon  a  guano  bag  with  much  relish. 
Saunders,  Baxter  and  Tammas  Mitchell  were 
shouldering  the  fanners  into  the  corn  room, 
while  the  servant  lassies,  quite  off  their  heads 
with  excitement,  were  carrying  in  the  dairy 
dishes  that  some  cart  had  left.  The  courtyard 
was  strewn  with  implements,  and  in  the  centre 
stood  Drumsheugh  full  of  power  and  forcible 
speech,  a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten. 

"  Hurry  up  wi'  the  fanners,  lads,  and  yoke  on 
the  ploos,  pit  the  harrows  in  the  cairt-shed,  an* 
hang  thae  saidles  in  the  stable ;  ye  micht  gie 
the  horses  a  feed,  and  see  the  coos  hae  a  bite  o' 
grass. 

"  Cairry  that  harness  into  the  hoose,  Piggie, 
the  wife  keeps  it  hersel ;  man,  a'  forgot  tae  gie 
ye  a  word;  hoo  did  ye  hear?  onywy,  it  wes 
neeburly  tae  gie  back  the  auld  dogcairt. 

"  Jamie  Soutar  lies  wiled  the  gude  man  oot  o' 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  iii 

the  road,  but  he  'ill  sune  be  back,  an'  we  maun 
hae  the  place  snod  afore  he  comes." 

Then  he  saw  Burnbrae  and  Jamie,  and  raged 
furiously. 

"  It 's  maist  aggravatin'  that  some  fouk  'ill 
come  when  they  're  no  wantit,  an'  stan'  glow- 
erin'  till  ye  wud  think  they  hed  never  seen  a 
fairm  toon  redd  (cleaned)  up  in  their  life. 

"  The  fac  is,"  and  Drumsheugh  relapsed  into 
private  life,  "  the  neeburs  thocht  ye  micht  be 
the  better  of  some  o'  yir  plenishin'  back  tae 
begin  wi',  an'  the  maist  o'  what 's  in  the  Glen 
'ill  be  here  afore  nicht. 

"  Dinna  say  a  word  aboot  it ;  it  wud  hae  been 
a  disgrace  tae  see  ye  buyin'  in  the  Muirtown 
market,  an'  yir  goods  on  oor  fairms.  We  're 
hard,  but  we  're  no  sae  mean  as  that.  Whup 
that  reapin'  machine  oot  o'  the  road,  Tammas," 
shouted  Drumsheugh,  creating  a  skilful  diver- 
sion for  Burnbrae's  benefit. 

Two  cows  came  round  the  corner,  and  made 
for  their  byre  with  the  air  of  persons  glad  to 
find  themselves  in  familiar  surroundings  after 
discomposing  adventures  in  foreign  parts. 
Hawkie  stepped  aside  at  the  door  to  allow 
Queenie  to  enter  first,  for  there  is  a  strict  order 


112  FOR   CONSCIENCE   SAKE 

of  precedence  among  cows,  and  however  it 
might  have  been  disregarded  in  strange  byres, 
good  manners  must  be  observed  at  home. 

Three  minutes  later  Hillocks  sauntered  in 
with  explanations. 

"  They  kent  their  ain  road  as  sune  as  we  got 
sicht  o'  the  hooses  ;  it 's  a  fine  hairst  day,  Drums- 
heugh  ;  is  the  byre  fillin'  ?" 

"  It 's  full,  man  ;  the  laist  coo  's  in,  and  Burn- 
brae 's  aff  tae  tell  the  gude  wife;  naebody  hes 
failed,  Hillocks,  an'  a'm  expectin' the  ministers 
up  every  minute." 

Jean  was  utterly  dazed,  and  Burnbrae  knew 
not  what  to  do  with  her.     Between  the  going  * 
and  the  coming  her  strength  had   given,  and 
she  could  only  sit  motionless  except  when  she 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheeks. 

"  If  Doctor  Davidson  isna  comin'  up  the 
near  road  wi'  Maister  Cunningham.  Drums- 
heugh  ^s  telt  them,  a  '11  wager,  and  they  're 
comin'  tae  wush  us  week 

"  It 's  a  terrible  peety,  Jean,  ye  're  no  able  tae 
see  them,"  continued  Burnbrae,  with  great  cun- 
ning ;  "  they  wud  nearly  need  tae  get  their  tea 
comin'  sae  far,  an'  Drumsheugh  tae,  for  he 's 
hed  an  aiftcrnune. 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  113 

"  But  it  canna  be  helpit  noo,  an'  of  coorse 
the 'ill  be  naethin'  for  them;  a '11  juist  say  ye 're 
no  yersel  the  day,  an'  tell  the  lassies  tae  bring  in 
a  jug  o'  milk,"  and  Burnbrae  made  for  the  door. 

"  Wud  ye  daur  tae  send  onybody  awa  frae 
oor  hoose  this  day  withoot  brakin'  bread,  tae 
say  naethin'  o'  the  ministers?"  and  Jean  was 
already  hunting  for  her  best  dress.  "  Gae  doon 
this  meenut  an'  show  them  ower  the  place,  an', 
John,  man,  keep  them  awa  for  an  'oor." 

When  the  party  returned  from  their  round 
all  things  were  ready,  and  Jean  received  the 
company  in  her  black  silk  and  a  cap  that  called 
forth  the  warm  congratulations  of  the  doctor. 

It  was  a  meal  to  be  remembered,  and  remained 
a  date  for  calculation  while  the  old  people 
lived.  Twenty  times  at  least  did  Jean  apologise 
for  its  imperfection — the  scones  which  wanted 
more  firing  and  the  butter  that  was  soft  through 
heat — and  as  many  times  did  the  doctor  declare 
with  solemnity  that  he  never  expected  to  taste 
the  like  again  till  he  returned  to  Burnbrae. 
Seven  times  exactly  did  Jean  go  out  to  supple- 
ment the  table  with  forgotten  dainties,  and 
once  she  was  so  long  away  that  Drumsheugh 
accused  her  of  visiting  the  byre. 


114  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE. 

"  No  likely  wi'  this  goon  on.  It 's  plain  ye 
ken  little  o'  women  fouk,  Drumsheugh." 

"Ye  juist  keekit  in,  a'm  thinkin',  tae  see  that 
the  hale  aucht  were  in  their  sta's,  eh,  gude 
wife?"  and  when  Jean's  face  pled  guilty,  Burn- 
brae  laughed  joyfully,  and  declared  that  "  the 
elder  wes  comin'  on,"  and  that "  they  micht  see 
a  mistress  in  Drumsheugh  yet." 

They  all  did  their  part,  but  it  was  agreed 
that  the  doctor  excelled  beyond  competition. 
He  told  his  best  stories  in  a  way  that  amazed 
even  his  faithful  elder,  while  Drumsheugh  and 
Burnbrae  watched  for  the  coming  point  to 
honour  it  with  vociferous  applause,  and  again 
would  deploy  in  front  to  draw  forth  another 
favourite.  No  one  could  have  felt  happy  if 
Mr.  Cunningham  had  taken  to  anecdotage,  but 
his  honest  efTort  to  follow  the  lead  and  be  in  at 
the  death  with  each  story  was  delightful.  Once 
also  he  threw  in  a  quotation  from  the  Georgics, 
which  the  doctor  declared  the  cleverest  thing 
he  had  ever  heard,  and  the  abashed  man  became 
the  object  of  silent  admiration  for  sixty  seconds. 
One  of  the  lassies,  specially  dressed  for  the 
occasion,  was  continually  bringing  in  hot  water 
and    reserve    tea-pots,  till    the   doctor   accused 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  115 

Drumsheugh  of  seven  cups,  and  threatened  him 
with  the  session  for  immoderate  drinking;  and 
Drumsheugh  hinted  that  the  doctor  was  only 
one  short  himself.  Simple  fooling  of  country 
folk,  that  would  sound  very  poor  beside  the 
wit  of  the  city,  but  who  shall  estimate  the  love 
in  Burnbrae's  homely  room  that  evening? 

When  at  last  the  doctor  rose  to  go,  in  spite 
of  Jean's  last  remonstrance  that  he  had  eaten 
nothing,  Burnbrae  said  he  would  like  the  min- 
isters to  take  the  reading  that  night,  and  then 
they  all  went  into  the  kitchen,  which  had  been 
made  ready.  A  long  table  stood  in  the  centre, 
and  at  one  end  lay  the  old  family  Bible ;  round 
the  table  gathered  Burnbrae's  sons  and  the 
serving  lads  and  women.  Doctor  Davidson 
motioned  to  the  Free  Church  minister  to  take 
his  place  at  the  head. 

"  This  is  your  family,  and  your  elder's  house." 

But  Cunningham  spoke  out  instantly  with  a 
clear  voice  : 

"  Doctor  Davidson,  there  is  neither  Estab- 
lished nor  Free  Church  here  this  night ;  we  are 
all  one  in  faith  and  love,  and  you  were  ordained 
before  I  was  born." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  this  honour,"  said  the 


ii6  FOR   CONSCIENCE    SAKE 

doctor,  and  Drumshcugh  said  that  he  had  never 
seen  him  look  so  pleased. 

He  was  already  selecting  the  psalm,  when 
Burnbrae  asked  leave  to  say  a  word,  and  there 
was  such  a  stillness  that  the  ticking  of  the 
clock  in  the  lobby  was  heard  over  the 
kitchen. 

"  It  isna  needfu'  for  me  tae  tell  ye,  freends, 
that  my  mind  is  wi'  the  Free  Kirk  in  her  con- 
tention, and  a'  houp  for  grace  tae  obey  ma  licht 
as  lang  as  a'  live. 

"  Nae  man's  conscience,  hooever,  is  a  law  tae 
his  neebur,  but  every  man  maun  follow  the 
guidance  o'  the  Speerit ;  an'  gin  a'  hev  said  a 
liasty  or  bitter  word  against  the  Auld  Kirk,  or 
called  her  ony  unworthy  name  thae  past  years, 
a'  want  tae  say  that  nane  regrets  it  mair  than  a' 
dae  masel,  and  it  becomes  me,  this  nicht,  tae 
ask  yir  pardon." 

"  You  never  did  anything  of  the  kind,  Burn- 
brae," said  the  doctor  huskily.  "  I  wish  to  God 
we  were  all  as  good  men,"  and  the  Free  Kirk 
elder  and  the  Moderate  minister  clasped  hands 
across  the-  open  Bible.  Then  the  doctor  cleared 
his  throat  with  great  majesty,  and  gave  out  the 
Hundred-and-thirty-third  Psalm : 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  117 

"  Behold  how  good  a  thing  it  is, 
And  how  becoming  well, 
Together,  such  as  brethren  are 
In  unity  to  dwell." 

And  the  sweet  sound  of  Eastgate  floated  out 
on  the  peaceful  air  of  the  Glen,  where  the  har- 
vest moon  was  shining  upon  fields  of  gold. 


A   MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


v.^3fe  k^OM.\^  -'.'OKU 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 

When  the  practice  of  Drumtochty  was  adver- 
tised,  and  the  duties  defined  by  geography — 
the  emoUiments  being  treated  with  marked  re- 
serve— the  medical  profession  did  not  contend 
in  a  body  for  the  post,  and  it  was  more  than  a 
year  before  WilHam  Maclure  had  a  successor. 
During  the  interregnum  temporary  physi- 
cians of  varied  experience  and  erratic  char- 
acter took  charge  of  our  health  for  short  periods, 
and  the  Glen  had  experiences  which  are  still 
fondly  cherished,  and  afforded  Elspeth  Mac- 
fadyen  the  raw  material  for  some  of  her  most 
finished  products.  One  of  these  worthies  was 
a  young  gentleman  twenty-four  years  of  age 
and  of  Irish  descent,  whose  thirst  for  fees  and 
hatred  of  anything  beyond  the  mimmum  of 
labour  bordered  on  genius.  It  was  he  who  de- 
clined to  enter  Lizzie  Taylor's  house,  although 
sent  for  in  the  most  interesting  circumstances. 


t22  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 

and  discoursed  outside  the  door  with  a  volu- 
bility that  seemed  almost  Satanic,  till  he  had 
received  an  earnest  of  ten  shillings  in  fourteen 
coins  of  the  realm.  Perhaps  the  Glen  was 
more  indignant  when  Dr.  O'Bralligan  declined 
to  rise  one  night  and  go  to  Glen  Urtach,  "  not 
even  if  his  sainted  grandmother  came  to  ask 
him,  riding  on  the  back  of  the  Angel  Gabriel." 

"  It  'ill  no  be  Gabriel  'at  'ill  tak  chairge  o' 
him,"  said  James  Soutar  succinctly.  And  the 
feeling  in  the  kirkyard  was  so  decided  that 
O'Bralligan  left  within  a  week,  explaining  to 
Peter  Bruce  at  the  Junction  that  the  people  of 
Drumtochty  were  the  "  most  oudacious  and  on- 
reasonable  set  o'  blackguards"  he  had  ever  seen. 

His  successor  had  enjoyed  the  remarkable 
privilege  of  ministering  in  a  fleeting  capacity  to 
the  health  of  sixty-three  parishes  during  a  pro- 
fessional practice  of  under  twenty  years,  and 
retained  through  all  vicissitudes  a  pronounced 
Glasgow  accent,  and  an  unquenchable  thirst  for 
distilled  liquors.  Dr.  Murchieson  was  not 
greedy  about  fees,  and  had  acquired  consider- 
able skill  in  his  eventful  life,  so  the  Glen  en- 
dured him  for  three  months,  but  used  him  with 
precautions. 


A   MANIFEST   JUDGMENT  123 

"  Gin  ye  catch  him  gaein'  east,"  Hillocks 
summed  up,  "  he  's  as  quiet  a  man  as  ye  wud 
wish,  and  skilly  tae,  but  comin'  wast  he  's  clean 
redeeklus  ;  last  nicht,"  added  Hillocks,  "  he  wes 
carryin'  his  hat  on  the  pint  o'  his  stick  an' 
singin'  '  Scots  wha  hae.*  " 

An  unaccountable  tendency  in  certain  states 
of  mind  to  prescribe  calomel  tried  the  patience 
of  the  Glen,  and  Gormack  conceived  a  personal 
prejudice  against  Murchieson  because  he  had 
ordered  him  to  be  blistered  with  croton  oil  till 
he  returned  next  day,  when  Gormack  had  a 
"  titch  "  of  bronchitis  ;  but  his  cup  ran  over  the 
night  he  sounded  a  pillow  instead  of  Maggie 
Martin's  lungs,  and  gave  her  mother  no 
hope. 

"  Congested  frae  top  tae  bottom  ;  nae  whasle 
(rales)  at  a'  the  day ;  naethin'  can  be  dune ;  a 
fine  lassie,"  and  he  departed,  after  a  brief  nap, 
full  of  music. 

Hillocks  drove  him  to  the  station,  and  he 
seemed  to  bear  no  grudge. 

"That  maks  saxty-fower — a've  forgotten  the 
names,  but  a'  keep  the  coont." 

His  farewell  was  divided  between  a  generous 
appreciation  of  Drumtochty  and  an  unfeigned 


124  A   MANIFEST   JUDGMENT 

regret  that  Kildrummie  had  no  refreshment- 
room. 

•'  Ilka  trade  hes  some  ne'er-dae-weels,  an*  the 
doctors  hae  fewer  than  maist.  Ye  canna  ex- 
pect onything  else  frae  thae  orra  craturs,"  said 
Drumsheugh  next  Sabbath,  "  an'  we  're  better 
withoot  them.  It  passes  me  hoo  yon  body 
stude  it,  for  he  wes  aye  tastin'." 

"  He  didna  stand  it,"  broke  in  Hillocks  with 
eagerness  ;  "  div  ye  ken  hoo  mony  whups  he  's 
hed  ?  *  A  've  been  saxty-fower  times,'  he  says 
to  me  at  Kildrummie  ;  a'  doot  he  wes  exagger- 
atin',  though." 

"  Been  what,  Hillocks  ?"  inquired  Jamie  with 
keen  interest. 

"  Ye  ken  what  a  *m  ettlin'  aifter  fine,  Jamie, 
an'  it 's  no  a  chancy  word  tae  mention." 

"  Wes  't  locum  tenens  ?" 

"  That,"  said  Hillocks,  "  is  the  word,  if  ye 
maun  hae  it ;  a'  wunner  the  body's  no  feared  ; 
it 's  an  awfu'  business,"  and  Hillocks  dropped 
into  morals,  "  when  a  man  canna  manage  his 
drink." 

Jamie  declared  that  he  had  never  seen  the 
kirkyard  so  overcome,  and  ever  afterwards 
Hillocks's   name  suggested  sudden  and    capti- 


A   MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  125 

vating  strokes  of  humour,  so  that  men's  faces 
h't  up  at  the  sight  of  him. 

It  was  in  these  circumstances  that  the  Glen 
fell  back  on  Kirsty  Stewart  for  medical  aid, 
with  the  Kildrummie  doctor  as  a  last  resort, 
and  Kirsty  covered  her  name  with  glory  for  a 
generation.  She  had  always  had  some  reputa- 
tion as  a  practitioner  of  ability  and  experience 
— being  learned  in  herbs,  and  the  last  of  her 
folk ;  but  her  admirers  were  themselves  as- 
tonished at  the  insight  she  showed  in  the  mys- 
terious illness  of  Peter  Macintosh,  and  her 
very  detractors  could  only  insinuate  that  her 
credit  ended  with  diagnosis.  His  case  had  a 
certain  distinction  from  the  first  day  he  com- 
plained, and  we  remembered  afterwards  that  it 
was  never  described  as  a  "  whup,"  During  the 
first  week  even  there  was  a  vague  impression 
in  the  Glen,  conveyed  by  an  accent,  that  Peter 
was  the  subject  of  a  dispensation,  and  the  kirk- 
yard  was  full  of  chastened  curiosity. 

"  What  's  this  that  's  wrang  wi'  Peter  Mac- 
intosh, Whinnie  ?"  broke  out  Drumsheugh, 
with  a  certain  magisterial  authority.  "  Ye  live 
near  him,  and  sud  hae  the  richts  o't.  As  for 
the   fouk   doon   bye,  ye  can  get  naethin'  oot  o' 


126  A    MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 

them ;  the  smith  juist  shook  his  head  twa 
nichts  syne,  as  if  he  wes  at  a  beerial." 

"  Ye  needna  speir  at  me,  Drumsheugh,"  re- 
sponded Whinnie,  with  solemnity,  "  for  a'  ken 
nae  mair  than  ye  dae  yersel,  though  oor  fields 
mairch  and  we  've  aye  been  neeburly." 

"  Losh  keep  's,  ye  surely  can  tell  us  whar  it 's 
catchit  Peter  ;  is  't  in  his  head  or  his  heels  ?  is 
he  gaein*  aboot  or  hes  he  ta'en  tae  his  bed  ? 
did  ye  no  see  him  ?"  said  Drumsheugh  severely. 

"  Ou  aye,  a'  saw  him,  gin  that  be  onything  ; 
but  ye  canna  get  muckle  oot  o'  Peter  at  the 
best,  and  he  's  clean  past  speakin'  noo. 

"  He  wes  sittin'  in  his  chair  afore  the  door, 
an'  a*  he  said  wes,  '  This  is  an  awfu'  business, 
Whinnie,'  and  he  wud  dance  in  his  seat  for 
maybe  twa  meenuts.  '  What 's  ailin*  ye,  Pe- 
ter ? '  a'  askit.  *  A  red-het  ploo  iron  on  ma 
back,'  says  he,  an*  it  gied  me  a  grue  tae  hear 
him." 

"  Mercy  on  's,  neeburs,"  interrupted  Hil- 
locks, "  this  is  no  cannie." 

"  It 's  no  his  briest,"  pursued  Whinnie,  "  for 
he  hesna  got  a  hoast  ;  an'  it 's  no  a  stroke, 
whatever  it  be,  for  he  's  aye  on  the  motion ; 
an'  it  's  no  his  inside  ;  but  in  or  oot,  Peter  's  a 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  127 

waesome  sicht,"  and  Whinnie's  manner  great- 
ly impressed  the  fathers. 

Leezbeth  went  up  on  Monday,  as  a  com- 
missioner from  Drumsheugh,  and  that  master- 
ful woman  made  no  doubt  that  she  would  un- 
ravel the  mystery  ;  but  she  was  distinctly  awed 
by  Mrs.  Mcintosh's  tone,  which  was  a  fine  blend 
of  anxiety  and  importance. 

*'  Hoo  are  ye,  Leezbeth,  an'  hoo  's  Drums- 
heugh  ?  There  's  threatenin'  tae  be  a  scoorie, 
but  it  'ill  maybe  haud  up  till  the  aifternoon. 
WuU  ye  come  in  tae  the  kitchen  the  day. 
The  gude  man  's  no  himsel'  the  noo,  and  he  's 
sittin'  ben  the  hoose." 

"  That 's  what  a'  cam'  aboot,"  said  Leezbeth. 
rebelling  against  the  solemnity  of  the  atmos- 
phere ;  "  we  heard  doon  bye  that  he  wes  sober 
(ill),  an'  the  maister  's  aff  tae  Dunleith,  and 
cudna  get  up  tae  speir  for  him.  What 's  the 
natur'  o'  the  tribble  ?     Wes  't  sudden  ?" 

Janet  knew  she  was  mistress  of  the  situation 
for  once,  and  had  no  fear  that  Leezbeth  could 
bring  her  down  from  her  high  places  in  this 
rough  fashion. 

"  It 's  rael  freendly  o'  ye,  an'  a  'm  muckle  ob- 
leeged  ;  the    fouk    are    awfu'    ta'en    up    aboot 


128  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 

Peter,  an'  there  's  juist  ae  word  on  a'body's 
mooth.  A'  ken  what 's  comin'  as  sune  as  a'  see 
a  neebur  crossin'  the  fields. 

"  Ye  may  be  sure,  Leezbeth,  a'  wud  tell  ye, 
gin  a'  kent  masel'/'  and  Janet  wagged  her  head  ; 
"  it  *s  nac  pleesure  tae  me  that  there  sud  be 
naethin'  noo  at  kirk  or  market  but  Peter's 
tribble,  and  tae  hae  half  the  Glen  deavin'  me 
wi'  questions. 

"Wumman,  a'  tell  ye,  as  sure  as  a 'm  stan- 
nin'  here,  a'  wud  raither  hae  Peter  gaein'  aboot 
at  his  wark  instead  o'  a'  this  tiravee  (commo- 
tion), and  him  girnin'  frae  mornin'  tae  nicht  in 
his  chair.     Div  ye  hear  him  ragin'  at  Mary?" 

"  Gae  awa  oot  o'  there,"  and  Peter  was  evi- 
dently rejecting  some  office  of  attention  ;  "  gin 
ye  come  near  me  a  '11  tak  ma  stick  tae  yir 
shoothers,  ye  little  trimmie  ;  ma  word,  a  'm  het 
eneuch  withoot  a  plaid." 

"This  is  a  terrible  hoose  the  noo," and  Janet 
struggled  vainly  with  a  natural  pride  ;  "  there  's 
been  naethin'  like  this  wi'  oor  forbears  sae  far 
back  as  a'  can  mind,  an'  a'  doot  gin  there  's  been 
the  marra  o  't  in  the  Glen." 

"  Hoo  's  he  affeckit  ?"  for  Leezbeth  was  much 
exasperated  by  Janet's  airs,  a  woman  who,  in 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  129 

ordinary  circumstances,  could  not  hav^e  with- 
stood her  for  an  instant.  "  Ye  can  surely  say 
that  muckle.  It 's  no  his  chest ;  that 's  in  fine 
fettle  ;  it  'ill  be  aither  his  legs  or  his  head ; 
maist  likely  his  head  frae  the  wy  he  's  carr>^in' 
on." 

"  Leezbeth,  dinna  mak  Hcht  o'  sic  a  veesita- 
tion,"  said  Janet,  with  all  the  dignity  of  afflic- 
tion ;  "  ye  dinna  ken  when  it  micht  draw  nearer 
hame.  It  wes  hangin'  ower  Peter  for  months, 
but  it  cam  oot  sudden  in  the  end,  a'  in  a  piece 
ae  morning,  Na,  the  tribble  'ill  tak  a  rin  up 
an'  doon  his  legs,  but  it  disna  settle  there,  an' 
a'  canna  deny  that  he  's  fractious  at  a  time,  but 
he  never  rammils  (wanders)  ;  whatever  it  be, 
the  tribble  keeps  tae  its  ain  place." 

"  Whar  is  that  and  what  like  is  't  ?"  for  Leez- 
beth was  now  reduced  to  entreaty ;  "  there 
maun  be  something  tae  see,  an',  Janet  wum- 
man,  a  've  hed  deiths  amang  ma  fouk,  tae  sac 
naethin'  o'  bringin'  up  Drumsheugh's  calves  for 
thirty  year." 

"  A'  ken  ye  're  skilly,  Leezbeth,"  said  Janet, 
much  mollified  by  Leezbeth's  unwonted  humili- 
ty, "  an'  a  'd  be  gled  o'  yir  advice.  Ye  daurna 
ask  Peter  for  a  sicht,  but  a  '11  gie  ye  an  idea 


I30  A    MANIFEST   JUDGMENT 

o  't.  It  *s  juist  for  a'  the  warld,"  and  Leezbeth 
held  her  breath,  "  like  a  sklatch  o'  eukiness 
(itchiness)  half  roond  his  waist,  naither  mair 
nor  less." 

"  Is  that  a',  Janet  ?"  and  Leezbeth  began  to 
take  revenge  for  her  humiliation  ;  "  ye  needna 
hae  made  sic  an  ado  aboot.  Div  ye  no  ken 
what 's  the  maitter  wi*  yir  man  ?  gin  ye  hed  ony 
gumption  (sense)  he  micht  hae  been  weel 
langsyne. 

"  Wumman,  it 's  a  heat  in  the  banes  *at  he  's 
gotten  laist  hairst,  and  the  spring 's  drawin'  it 
cot.  Dinna  send  it  in  for  ony  sake,  else  ye  'ill 
hae  yir  man  in  the  kirkyaird. 

"  Ma  advice,"  continued  Leezbeth,  now  riot- 
ing in  triumph,  "  wud  be  tae  rub  him  weel  wi' 
whisky ;  ye  canna  gang  wrang  wi'  speerits,  oot 
or  in  ;  an'  dinna  lat  him  sleep ;  if  he  took  tae 
dronyin'  (dozing)  ye  micht  never  get  him 
waukened."  And  so  Drumsheugh's  house- 
keeper departed,  having  dashed  Janet  at  a 
stroke. 

When  Kirsty  arrived  in  the  afternoon  to 
offer  her  services,  Janet  had  no  heart  to  enter 
into  the  case. 

"  Drumsheugh's  Leezbeth  gied  us  a  cry  afore 


A   MANIFEST   JUDGMENT  131 

dinner  and  settled  the  maitter ;  gin  she  lays 
doon  the  law  there  's  naebody  need  center  her ; 
ye  wud  think  she  'd  been  at  the  creation  tae 
hear  her  speak ;  ye  've  hed  a  lang  traivel, 
Kirsty,  an'  ye  'ill  be  ready  for  yir  tea." 

"  Ou  ay,"  replied  Janet  bitterly,  "  she  gied 
it  a  name  ;  it  's  naething  but  a  bit  heat — a 
bairn's  rash,  a 'm  jidgin',  though  a' never  saw 
ane  like  it  a'  ma  days ;  but  Leezbeth  kens 
better,  wi'  a'  her  experience,  an'  of  coorse  it's 
a  sateesfaction  tae  ken  that  the  Glen  needna 
fash  (trouble)  themselves  aboot  Peter." 

"  Leezbeth  wesna  blate,"  Kirsty  burst  out, 
unable  to  contain  herself  at  the  thought  of  this 
intrusion  into  her  recognised  sphere,  "an'  it's  a 
mercy  we  hae  the  like  o'  her  in  the  Glen  noo 
that  Doctor  Maclure  is  deid  an'  gane.  Did  ye 
say  her  experience  ? "  and  Kirsty  began  to 
warm  to  the  occasion  ;  "  a'  wunner  whether  it 's 
wi*  beasts  or  fouk  ?  Gin  it  be  wi'  Drumsheugh's 
young  cattle,  a'  hae  naethin'  tae  say ;  but  gin 
it  be  Christians,  a'  wud  juist  ask  ae  question — 
hoo  mony  o'  her  fouk  hes  she  beeried  ?  " 

"  Naethin'  tae  speak  o'  aside  you,  Kirsty," 
said  Janet,  in  propitiation  ;  "  a'body  kens  what 
preevileges  ye  've  hed." 


132  A   MANIFEST   JUDGMENT 

"  Ae  brither  an'  twa  half  sisters,  that 's  a','' 
continued  Kirsty,  "  for  a'  hed  it  frae  her  own 
lips  ;  it 's  no  worth  mentionin' ;  gin  a'  hed  seen 
nae  mair  tribble  than  that  a'  wud  be  ashamed 
tae  show  ma  face  in  a  sick  hoose ;  lat  's  hear 
aboot  yir  man,  Janet,"  and  Kirsty  settled  down 
to  details. 

"Did  ye  say  half  roond,  Janet?"  and  she 
leaned  forward  with  concern  on  every  feature. 

"  That 's  hoo  it  is  ;  the  ither  side  is  as  white 
as  a  bairn's  skin  ;  an'  though  he  be  ma  man, 
a  '11  say  this  for  him,  that  he  's  aye  hed  clean 
blude  an'  nae  marks  ;  but  what  are  ye  glower- 
in'  at  ?  hae  ye  ony  licht  ?  speak,  wumman," 

"  This  is  a  mair  serious  business,  Janet,  than 
onybody  suspectit,"  and  Kirsty  sighed  heavily. 

"  Preserve 's,  Kirsty,  what  div  ye  think  is  the 
matter  wi'  Peter?  tell 's  the  warst  at  aince,"  for 
Kirsty's  face  suggested  an  apocalypse  of  woe. 

"A  heat,"  she  said,  still  lingering  over  Leez- 
beth's  shallow,  amateur  suggestion,  "gotten  at 
the  hairst  .  .  .  rub  it  wi'  whisky  .  .  .  ay,  ay, 
it 's  plain  whar  she  gets  her  skill,  'at  disna  ken 
the  differ  atween  the  tribble  o'  a  man  an'  a 
beast. 

"  Isn't  maist  michty,"  and  now  Kirsty  grew 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  133 

indignant,  "  'at  a  wumman  o'  Leezbeth's  age 
cudna  tell  an  eruption  frae  a  jidgment  ?  " 

"  Kirsty  Stewart,  hoo  div  ye  ken  that  ?  "  cried 
Janet,  much  lifted  ;  "  a'  wes  jalousin'  that  it 
passed  ordinary,  but  what  gars  ye  think  o'  jidg- 
ment?" 

"  A  'm  no  the  wumman  tae  meddle  wi'  sic  a 
word  lichtly.  Na,  na,  a'  micht  hae  gaed  awa' 
an'  said  naethin'  gin  Leezbeth  hedna  been  sae 
ready  wi'  her  heats. 

-  "A'm  no  wantin'  tae  frichten  )e,  Janet," 
and  Kirsty's  face  assumed  an  awful  signifi- 
cance, "  an'  a  'm  no  wantin'  tae  flatter  ye,  but 
ye  may  lippen  tae  't  Peter  's  hed  a  special  dis- 
pensation. Did  ye  say  aboot  twa  hands'- 
breadths  ?" 

As  Janet  could  only  nod,  Kirsty  continued  : 
"  He  's  been  gruppit  by  a  muckle  hand,  an'  it  's 
left  the  sign.  Leezbeth  wes  maybe  no  sae  far 
wrang  aboot  the  heat,  but  it  came  frae  the  oot- 
side,  a  'm  dootin'." 

"  Div  ye  mean,"  and  Janet's  voice  had  sunk 
to  a  whisper,  "  is  't  auld " 

"  Dinna  say  the  word,  wumman  ;  he  micht  be 
hearin*,  and  there  's  nae  use  temptin'  him.  It 's 
juist  a  warnin',  ye  see,  an'  it 's  a  mercy  he  gied 


134  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 

nae  farther.  Hed  he  ta'eii  baith  hands,  it 
micht  hae  been  the  end  o*  yir  man," 

"  This  is  no  Hchtsome,"  and  Janet  began  to 
wail,  although  not  quite  insensible  to  the  dis- 
tinction Peter  had  achieved  ;  "  a'  kent  frae  the 
beginnin'  this  wesna  a  common  tribble,  an' 
we  're  behadden  tae  ye  for  settlin'  the  maitter. 
Whatever  hes  Peter  dune  tae  bring  sic  a  jidg- 
ment  on  himsel  ?  He  *s  a  cautious  man  as  ye 
'ill  get  in  the  Glen,  an*  pays  his  rent  tae  the 
day ;  he  may  taste  at  a  time,  but  he  never 
fechts  ;  it  beats  me  tae  pit  ma  hand  on  the 
meanin'  o  't." 

"  There  wes  some  clash  (gossip)  aboot  him 
contradickin*  the  minister,"  said  Kirsty,  looking 
into  the  remote  distance. 

"  Div  ye  mean  the  colie-shangie  (disturbance) 
ower  the  new  stove,  when  Peter  and  the  doctor 
hed  sic  a  cast  oot  ?  Ye  *re  an  awfu'  wumman," 
and  Janet  regarded  Kirsty  with  admiration  ; 
"  a'  never  wud  hae  thocht  o'  conneckin'  the  twa 
things.  But  a*  daurna  say  ye  're  no  richt,  for  a* 
hed  ma  ain  fears  aboot  the  wy  Peter  wes 
cairryin*  on. 

"  *  A  '11  no  gie  up  ma  pew  whar  oor  fouk  hae 
sat  Gude  kens  hoo  lang,    for  the  doctor  or  ony 


A    MANIFEST    JUDGMENT  135 

ither  man ;  they  can  pit  the  stove  on  the  ither 
side,  an'  gin  it  disna  draw  there,  the  doctor  can 
set  it  up  in  the  kirkyaird.'  Thae  were  his  verra 
words,  Kirsty,  an'  a'  tell  *t  him  they  wud  dae 
him  nae  gude. 

"  If  a'  didna  beg  o'  him  ootside  that  door  no 
tae  gang  against  the  minister.  '  Dinna  be  the 
first  in  the  Glen  tae  anger  the  doctor,'  a'  said ; 
but  Peter 's  that  thrawn  when  his  birse  is  up 
that  ye  micht  as  weel  speak  tae  a  wall. 

"  He  's  made  a  bonnie  like  endin'  wi'  his 
dourness  ;  but,  Kirsty,  he  's  sair  humbled,  an'  a' 
wudna  say  but  he  micht  come  roond  gin  he  wes 
hannelled  cautious.  What  wud  ye  advise, 
Kirsty?" 

"  The  doctor's  comin'  hame  this  week,  a  'm 
hearin',  an'  he  'ill  be  up  tae  see  Peter  afore 
Sabbath.  Noo  ma  opinion  is,"  and  Kirsty 
spoke  with  great  deliberation,  "  that  ye  micht 
juist  bring  roond  the  conversation  till  \e  titched 
on  the  stove,  an'  Peter  cud  gie  the  doctor  tae 
understand  that  there  wud  be  nae  mair  argiment 
aboot  his  seat. 

"  Whinnie  cud  get  a  bottle  frae  the  Muirtown 
doctor  on  Friday — it  wud  be  a  help — but  it  's 
no   medeecine,  no,  nor  w^hisky,  'at  'ill  dae  the 


136  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 

wark.  Gin  ye  settle  with  the  minister,  yir  man 
'ill  be  in  the  kirk  afore  the  month  be  oot,"  and 
Kirsty  was  invested  with  such  mystery  that 
Janet  hardly  dared  an  allusion  to  Milton's  third 
marriage. 

Peter  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  kirk- 
yard  the  very  day  the  stove  was  installed,  and 
received  the  congratulations  of  the  fathers  with 
an  admirable  modesty. 

"  A'  wes  feared  he  micht  be  lifted,"  Hillocks 
remarked,  after  Peter  had  gone  in  to  take  pos- 
session of  his  new  seat,  "  an'  ye  cudna  hae 
wonnered  gin  he  hed,  for  he  's  gaen  through 
mair  than  most,  but  he  held  oot  his  hand  for  the 
box  wi'  as  little  pride  as  if  it  hed  been  rheumat- 
iks. 

"  He  's  fell  hearty  an'  cheery,  but  Peter  's  hed 
a  shak,  an'  when  he  saw  the  smoke  oot  the 
stove  there  wes  a  look  cam  ower  his  face.  Sail," 
concluded  Hillocks,  with  emphasis,  "he 'ill  no 
meddle  with  the  minister  again,  a  'II  warrant." 

"  Wha  wud  hae  thocht  the  doctor  wes  sae 
veecious,  or  are  ye  considerin'  that  there  wes 
anither  hand  in  't,  Hillocks  ?"  inquired  Jamie 
Soutar,  with  great  smoothness  of  speech. 

"  Naebody  said  the  minister  did  it,  Jamie, 


A   MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  137 

and  a'  never  said  onybody  did  it,  but  we  may 
hae  oor  ain  thochts,  and  Peter  'ill  no  forget  this 
stramash  (accident)  as  lang  as  he  lives." 

"  Na,  na,  a  minister  's  an  ill  craw  tae  shoot  at, 
Jamie,"  and  Hillocks  went  into  kirk  as  one 
who  had  rebuked  a  mocking  scepticism  ;  but 
Jamie  stood  alone  under  the  beech-tree  till  they 
had  raised  the  psalm,  and  then  he  followed  his 
neighbors,  with  a  face  of  funereal  solemnity. 


K 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    LOVE   STORY 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE 

Drumsheugh  had  arrested  Dr.  Maclure  on  the 
high  road  the  winter  before  he  died,  and  com- 
pelled him  to  shelter  for  a  while,  since  it  was  a 
rough  December  night  not  far  from  Christmas, 
and  every  one  knew  the  doctor  had  begun  to 
fail. 

"  Is  that  you,  Weelum  ?  "  for  the  moon  was 
not  yet  up,  and  an  east  wind  was  driving  the 
snow  in  clouds ;  "  a'  wes  oot  seein'  the  sheep 
werena  smoored  in  the  drift,  an'  a  'm  wrastlin* 
hame. 

"  Come  back  tae  the  hoose  an'  rest ;  gin 
there  's  tae  be  ony  mune  she  'ill  be  oot  by  nine, 
and  the  wind  'ill  maybe  settle ;  ye  're  baith  o' 
ye  sair  forfoochen  "  (exhausted),  and  Drums- 
heugh seized  Jess's  bridle. 

For  eight  miles  the  wind  had  been  on  Mac- 
lure's  back,  and  he  was  cased  in  snow  from  the 


142     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

crown  of  the  felt  hat,  that  was  bent  to  meet  his 
jacket  collar,  down  to  the  line  of  his  saddle. 
The  snow  made  a  little  bank  on  the  edge  of 
the  saddle  that  was  hardly  kept  in  check  by  the 
heat  of  Jess's  body;  it  was  broken  into  patches 
on  his  legs  by  the  motion  of  riding,  but  clung 
in  hard  lumps  to  the  stirrup  irons.  The  fine 
drift  whirling  round  powdered  him  in  front, 
and  melting  under  his  breath,  was  again  frozen 
into  icicles  on  his  beard,  and  had  made  Jess's 
mane  still  whiter.  When  Drumsheugh's  house- 
keeper opened  the  kitchen  door  and  the  light 
fell  on  the  horse  and  her  master — a  very  ghostly 
sight — Leezabeth  was  only  able  to  say,  "  Pre- 
serve 's  a'  body  and  soul,"  which  was  the  full 
form  of  a  prayer  in  use  on  all  occasions  of  sur- 
prise. 

Three  times  the  doctor  essayed  to  come 
down,  and  could  not  for  stiffness,  and  he  would 
have  fallen  on  the  doorstep  had  it  not  been  for 
Drumsheugh. 

"This  'ill  be  a  lesson  tae  ye,  Weelum,"  help- 
ing him  in  to  the  kitchen  ;  "  ye  're  doonricht 
numbed  ;  get  aff  the  doctor's  boots,  Leezabeth, 
an'  bring  a  coat  for  him." 

"  Awa   wi'   ye ;  div   ye   think  a  'm   a  bairn  ? 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    FIRESIDE         143 

...  A  '11  be  masel  in  a  meenut  ...  it  wes  the 
cauld  .  .  .  they  're  stiff  tae  pull,  Leezabeth 
...  let  me  dae  't  .  .  .  weel,  weel,  if  ye  wull 
.  .  .  but  a'  dinna  like  tae  see  a  wumman  servin' 
a  man  like  this." 

He  gave  in  after  a  slight  show  of  resistance, 
and  Leezabeth,  looking  up,  saw  her  master 
watching  Maclure  wistfully,  as  one  regards  a 
man  smitten  unto  death.  Drumsheugh  realised 
in  one  moment  that  this  was  the  doctor's  last 
winter ;  he  had  never  seen  him  so  easily  man- 
aged all  his  life. 

Leezabeth  had  kept  house  for  Drumsheugh 
for  many  years,  and  was  understood  to  know 
him  in  all  his  ways.  It  used  to  be  a  point  of 
interesting  debate  which  was  the  harder,  but  all 
agreed  that  they  led  the  Glen  in  ingenious 
economy  and  unfailing  detection  of  irrespon- 
sible generosity.  The  Kildrummie  butcher  in 
his  irregular  visits  to  the  Glen  got  no  support 
at  Drumsheugh,  and  the  new  lass  that  favoured 
the  ploughmen  with  flowing  measure  was  super- 
seded next  milking  time. 

''That's  yir  pint,  Jeems,  naither  mair  nor 
less,"  Leezabeth  would  say  to  the  *'  second 
man."     "  Mary's  hand  shaks  when  there  's  lads 


144    DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

aboot,"  and  Drumsheugh  heard  the  story  with 
much  appreciation  in  the  evening. 

She  used  to  boast  that  there  was  "  nae  saft 
bit  aboot  the  maister,"  and  of  all  things  Drums- 
heugh  was  supposed  to  be  above  sentiment. 
But  Leezabeth  was  amazed  that  evening  at  a 
curious  gentleness  of  manner  that  softened  his 
very  voice  as  he  hung  round  the  doctor. 

"Drink  it  aff,  Weelum,"  holding  the  glass  to 
his  lips ;  "  it  'ill  start  the  hert  again  ;  try  an' 
rise,  an'  we  'ill  gang  ben  the  hoose  noo  .  .  . 
that 's  it,  ye  're  on  yir  legs  again  .  .  .  that 
door 's  aye  in  the  road  .  .  .  it 's  a  dark  passage ; 
gie 's  yir  airm  ...  it 's  awfu'  hoo  stiff  a  body 
gets  sittin'." 

Leezabeth  was  ordered  to  bring  such  dainties 
as  could  be  found,  and  she  heard  Drumsheugh 
pressing  things  upon  the  doctor  with  solicitude. 

"  It 's  no  richt  tae  gang  that  lang  withoot 
meat,  an'  the  nicht  's  sae  cauld  ;  ye  'ill  be  fund 
on  the  road  some  mornin'.  Try  some  o'  thae 
black  currants ;  they  're  graund  for  a  hoast. 
Ye  're  no  surely  dune  already. 

"  Draw  in  yir  chair  tae  the  fire,  Weelum  ;  tak 
this  ane  ;  it  wes  ma  mither's,  an'  it 's  easier  ;  ye 
need  it  aifter  that  ride.     Are  ye  warm  noo?" 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   FIRESIDE         145 

"  A'm  rael  comfortable  an'  content,  Drums- 
heugh  ;  it 's  a  wee  lonesome  wast  yonder  when 
a  man  comes  in  weet  an'  tired  o'  a  nicht ;  juist 
tae  sit  aside  a  freend,  although  nane  o  *s  say 
mickle,  is  a  rest." 

"  A'  wush  ye  wud  come  aftcner,  Weelum," 
said  Drumsheugh  hastily  ;  "  we  're  no  as  young 
as  we  were,  an'  we  micht  draw  thegither  mair. 
It 's  no  speakin'  maks  freends.  .  .  .  Hoo  auld 
are  ye  noo  ?" 

"  Seeventy-three  this  month,  an'  a  '11  no  see 
anither  birthday;  ye 're  aulder,  Drum" — Mac- 
lure  only  v/as  so  privileged — "  but  ye  're  a  hale 
man  an'  gude  for  twal  year  yet." 

"  Ye  micht  hae  been  the  same  yersel  if  ye 
hadna  been  a  senseless  fule  an'  sae  thrawn 
(obstinate)  ye  wudna  be  guided  by  onybody ; 
but  if  ye  gang  cautious  ye  'ill  live  us  a'  oot  yet ; 
ye  're  no  like  the  same  man  noo  'at  cam  in  tae 
the  kitchen.  Leezabeth  wes  fleggit  at  the 
sicht  o'  ye,"  and  Drumsheugh  affected  mirth. 

"  Wes  she,  though  ?"  said  Maclure,  with  some 
relish.  "  A  've  often  thocht  it  wud  tak  a 
chairge  o'  gunpooder  tae  pit  Leezabeth  aff  her 
jundy  (ordinary  course).  Hoo  lang  hes  she 
been   wi'   ye  ?     A'    mind   her   comin' ;    it   wes 


146     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

aifter  yir  mither  deed  ;  that 's  a  gude  while 
past  noo," 

"  Five  and  thirty  year  last  Martinmas  ;  she  's 
a  Kildrummie  wumman,  but  a'  her  fouk  are 
dead.  Leezabeth  's  been  a  faithfu'  house- 
keeper, an'  she  *s  an  able  wumman  ;  a'  ve  nae- 
thing  tae  say  against  Leezabeth. 

"  She  's  a  graund  manager,"  continued  Drums- 
heugh  meditatively,  "  an'  there 's  no  been 
mickle  lost  here  since  she  cam  ;  a  '11  say  that 
for  her  ;  she  dis  her  wark  accordin'  tae  her  licht, 
but  it 's  aye  scrapin'  wi'  her,  and  the  best  o' 
hoosekeepers  maks  a  cauld  hame. 

"  Weelum — "  and  then  he  stopped,  and 
roused  the  fire  into  a  blaze. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Maclure,  and  he  looked  kind- 
ly at  his  friend,  whose  face  was  averted. 

"Wes  ye  gaein'  tae  say  onything?"  and. Mac- 
lure  waited,  for  a  great  confidence  was  rare  in 
Drumtochty. 

"  There  Aves  something  happened  in  ma  life 
lang  syne  nae  man  kens,  an'  a'  want  tae  tell  ye, 
but  no  the  nicht,  for  ye  *re  tired  an'  cast  doon. 
Ye  'ill  come  in  sune  again,  Weelum." 

"The  mornin's  nicht,  gin  it  be  possible," 
and  then  both  men  were  silent  for  a  space. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   FIRESIDE         147 

The  wind  came  in  gusts,  roaring  in  the  chim- 
ney, and  dying  away  with  a  long  moan  across 
the  fields,  while  the  snow-drift  beat  against  the 
window.  Drumsheugh's  dog,  worn  out  with 
following  his  master  through  the  drifts,  lay 
stretched  before  the  fire  sound  asleep,  but 
moved  an  ear  at  the  rattling  of  a  door  upstairs, 
or  a  sudden  spark  from  the  grate. 

Drumsheugh  gazed  long  into  the  red  caverns 
and  saw  former  things,  till  at  last  he  smiled  and 
spake. 

"Hoolangis't  since  ye  guddled  for  troot, 
Weelum  ?" 

"  Saxty  year  or  sae  ;  div  ye  mind  yon  hole  in 
the  Sheuchie  burn,  whar  it  comes  doon  frae 
the  muir?  They  used  to  lie  and  feed  in  the  rin 
o'  the  water. 

"  A'  wes  passin'  that  wy  lairst  hairst,  an'  a 
took  a  thocht  and  gied  ower  tae  the  bank. 
The  oak  looks  juist  the  same,  an'  a'  keekit 
through,  an'  if  there  wesna  a  troot  ablow  the 
big  stane.  If  a'  hedna  been  sae  stiff  a'  wud 
hae  gien  doon  and  tried  ma  luck  again." 

"  A'  ken  the  hole  fine,  Weelum,"  burst  out 
Drumsheugh ;  "  div  ye  mind  where  a'  catchit 
yon  twa-punder  in  the  dry  simmer?  it  wes  the 


148     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

biggest  ever  taen  oot  o'  the  Sheuchie ;  a'  telt 
ye  a*  next  day  at  schule." 

"  Ye  did  that,  an'  ye  blew  aboot  that  troot 
for  the  hale  winter,  but  nane  o'  us  ever  saw  't, 
an'  it  wes  juist  a  bare  half  pund  tae  begin  wi' ; 
it 's  been  growin',  a'  doot ;  it  'ill  be  five  afore 
ye  're  dune  wi 't,  Drum." 

"  Nane  o'  yir  impidence,Weelum.  A'  weighed 
it  in  Luckie  Simpson's  shop  as  a'  gied  hame, 
an'  it  made  twa  pund  as  sure  as  a'm  sitting 
here ;  but  there  micht  be  a  wecht  left  in  the 
scale  wi  *t." 

"  Fishers  are  the  biggest  leears  a'  ever  cam 
across,  and  ye  've  dune  yir  best  the  nicht. 
Drum  ;  but  eh,  man,  guddlin'  wes  a  graund 
ploy,"  and  the  doctor  got  excited. 

"A'  think  a'm  at  it  aince  mair,  wi'  ma 
sleeves  up  tae  the  oxters,  lying  on  ma  face, 
wi'  naethin'  but  the  een  ower  the  edge  o'  the 
stane,  an'  slippin'  ma  hands  intae  the  caller 
water,  an'  the  rush  o'  the  troot,  and  grippin' 
the  soople  slidderin'  body  o  't  an'  throwin  't 
ower  yir  head,  wi'  the  red  spots  glistening  on 
its  white  belly ;  it  wes  michty." 

"  Ay,  Weelum,  an'  even  missin  't  wes  worth 
while  ;  tae  feel  it  shoot  atween  yir  hands  an 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    FIRESIDE  149 

see  it  dash  doon  the  burn,  makin'  a  white  track 
in  the  shallow  water,  an'  ower  a  bit  fall  and  oot 
o'  sicht  again  in  anither  hole." 

They  rested  for  a  minute  to  revel  in  the  past, 
and  in  the  fire  the  two  boys  saw  water  running 
over  gravel,  and  deep,  cool  holes  beneath  over- 
hanging rocks,  and  little  waterfalls,  and  birch 
boughs  dipping  into  the  pools,  and  speckled 
trout  gleaming  on  the  grass. 

Maclure's  face  kindled  into  mirth,  and  he 
turned  in  his  chair. 

"Ye  're  sayin'  naethin*  o'  the  day  when  the 
burn  wes  settlin'  aifter  a  spate,  and  ye  cam  tae 
me  an'  Sandy  Baxter  an'  Netherton's  brither 
*  Squinty,'  an'  temptit  us  tae  play  the  truant, 
threepin'  ye  hed  seen  the  troot  juist  swarmin' 
in  the  holes." 

"A'  tried  John  Baxter  tae,"  interrupted 
Drumsheugh,  anxious  for  accuracy  since  they 
had  begun  the  story,  "  though  he  didna  come. 
But  he  wudna  tell  on  's  for  a'  that.  Hillocks 
lat  it  oot  at  the  sight  o'  the  tawse.  '  They  're 
up  the  Sheuchie  aifter  the  troot,'  he  roared,  an' 
the  verra  lassies  cried  *  clype  '  (tell  tale)  at  him 
gaein'  hame." 

"  What   a   day   it   wes,    Drum ;   a*    can   see 


I50      DRUMSHEUGH'S    LOVE    STORY 

Sandie's  heels  in  the  air  when  he  coupit  intae 
the  black  hole  abune  Gormack,  an'  you  pullin' 
him  oot  by  the  seat  o'  his  breeks,  an'  his  Latin 
Reader,  'at  hed  fa'en  oot  o'  his  pocket,  sailin' 
doon  the  water,  an'  '  Squinty'  aifter  it,  scram- 
mellin'  ower  the  stanes;"  and  the  doctor 
laughed  aloud. 

"  Ye  've  forgot  hoo'ye  sent  me  in  tae  beg  for 
a  piece  frae  the  gude  wife  at  Gormack,  an'  she 
saw  the  lave  o'  ye  coorin'  ahint  the  dyke,  an' 
gied  us  a  flytin'  for  playin'  truant." 

""  Fient  a  bit  o  't,"  and  Maclure  took  up  the 
running  again  ;  **  an'  then  she  got  a  sicht  o* 
Sandie  like  a  drooned  rat,  and  made  him  come 
in  tae  dry  himsel,  and  gied  us  pork  an'  oat 
cake.  My  plate  hed  a  burn  on  it  like  the 
Sheuchie — a'  cud  draw  the  pattern  on  a  sheet 
o*  paper  till  this  day — that  wes  Gormack's 
mither  ;  it  *s  no  sae  lang  since  she  deed  ;  a' 
wes  wi'  her  the  laist  nicht." 

"An*  the  tawse  next  day  frae  the  auld 
Dominie,  him  'at  wes  afore  Domsie  ;  he  hed  a 
fine  swing.  A'  think  a'  feel  the  nip  still," 
and  Drumsheugh  shuffled  in  his  chair ;  "  an' 
then  we  got  anither  lickin'  frae  oor  faithers; 
but,    man,"  slapping  his  knee,  "  it  wes   worth 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    FIRESIDE  151 

it  a'  ;  we  've  never  hed  as  gude  a  day 
again." 

"  It 's  juist  like  yesterday,  Drum,  but  it  cam 
tae  an  end  ;  and  div  ye  mind  hoo  we  were  feared 
tae  gae  hame,  and  didna  start  till  the  sun  wes 
weel  doon  ahint  Ben  Urtach  ? 

"Four  o  *s,"  resumed  Maclure;  "an'  Sandie 
got  a  Russian  bayonet  through  his  breist  fech- 
tin'  ae  snawy  nicht  in  the  trenches,  an'  puir 
Squinty  deed  oot  in  Ameriky  wearyin'  for  the 
Glen  an'  wishin'  he  cud  be  buried  in  Drum- 
tochty  kirkyaird.  Fine  laddies  baith,  an'  that 's 
twa  o'  the  fower  truants  that  hae  gane 
hame. 

"You  an'  me,  Drum,  hed  the  farthest  road 
tae  traivel  that  nicht,  an'  we  're  the  laist  again  ; 
the  sun  's  settin'  for  us  tae  ;  we  've  hed  a  gude 
lang  day,  and  ye  'ill  hae  a  whilie  aifter  me,  but 
we  maun  follow  the  ither  twa." 

"  Ye  're  richt,  Weelum,  aboot  the  end  o  't, 
whichever  gangs  first,"  said  Drumsheugh. 

Another  silence  fell  on  the  two  men,  and 
both  looked  steadfastly  into  the  fire,  till  the 
dog  rose  and  laid  his  head  on  Drumsheugh's 
hand.  He  was  also  getting  old,  and  now  had 
no  other  desire  than  to  be  with  his  master. 


152      DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

Drumsheugh  moved  his  chair  into  the 
shadow,  and  sighed. 

"  It  's  no  the  same  though,  Weelum,  it  *s  no 
the  same  ava.  .  .  .  We  did  what  we  sudna, 
an'  wes  feared  tae  meet  oor  faithers,  nae  doot, 
but  we  kent  it  wud  be  waur  oot  on  the  cauld 
hill,  an'  there  wes  a  house  tae  shelter 's  at  ony 
rate." 

"  Maclure  would  not  help,  and  Drumsheugh 
went  on  again  as  if  every  word  were  drawn 
from  him  in  agony. 

"  We  dinna  ken  onything  aboot  .  .  . — and 
he  hesitated — "aboot  .  .  .  the  ither  side. 
A've  thocht  o't  often  in  the  gloamin'  o'  a 
simmer  nicht,  or  sittin'  here  alane  by  the  fire  in 
winter  time  ;  a  man  may  seem  naething  but  an 
auld  miserly  fairmer,  an'  yet  he  may  hae  his  ain 
thochts. 

"  When  a'  wes  a  laddie,  the  doctor's  father 
wes  in  the  poopit,  an'  Dominie  Cameron  wes  in 
the  schule,  an'  yir  father  rode  up  an'  doon  the 
Glen,  an'  they  're  a'  gane.  A'  can  see  at  a  time 
in  kirk  the  face  that  used  tae  be  at  the  end  of 
ilka  seat,  an'  the  bairns  in  the  middle,  an'  the 
gude  wife  at  the  top :  there  's  no  ane  a*  canna 
bring  up  when  the  doctor 's  at  the  sermon. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    FIRESIDE  153 

"  Wae  's  me,  the  auld  fouk  that  were  in  Burn- 
brae,  an'  Hillocks,  an'  Whinny  Knowe  are  a' 
dead  and  buried,  ma  ain  father  an'  mother  \vi' 
the  lave,  an'  their  bairns  are  makin'  ready  tae 
follow  them,  an'  sune  the  'ill  be  anither  genera- 
tion in  oor  places." 

He  paused,  but  Maclurc  knew  he  had  not 
finished. 

"  That 's  no  the  warst  o  't,  for  naebody  wants 
tae  live  ower  lang,  till  he  be  cripple  an'  dottle 
(crazy.)  A'  wud  raither  gang-  as  sune  as  a' 
cudna  manage  masel,  but  .  .  .  we  hev  nae 
word  o'  them.  They've  said  gude-bye,  and 
gane  oot  o'  the  Glen,  an'  fouk  say  they're  in 
the  land  o'  the  leal.  It  's  a  bonny  song,  an' 
a'  dinna  like  onybody  tae  see  me  when  it 's 
sung,  but  .  .  .  wha  kens  for  certain  .  .  .  aboot 
that  land  ?" 

Still  Maclure  made  no  sign. 

"The  sun  'ill  come  up  frae  Strathmore,  and 
set  abune  Glen  Urtach,  an'  the  Tocht\'  'ill  rin 
as  it  dis  this  nicht,  an'  the  'ill  be  fouk  sowin' 
the  seed  in  spring  and  githerin'  in  the  corn  in 
hairst,  an'  a  congregation  in  the  kirk,  but  we 
'ill  be  awa  an'  .  .  .  Weelum,  wull  that  be  .  .  . 
the  end  o'  us?"     And  there  was  such  a  tone  in 


■KIN 


154        DRUMSHEUGH'S    LOVE  STORY 

Drumsheugh's  voice  that  the  dog  whined  and 
licked  his  hand. 

"  No,  Drumsheugh,  it  'ill  no  be  the  end," 
said  the  doctor  in  a  low,  quiet  voice,  that  hard- 
ly sounded  like  his  own.  "  A  'vc  often  thocht 
it's  mair  like  the  beginnin'.  Oor  forbears  are 
oot  o'  sicht,  an'  a'  wudna  want  tae  hae  them 
back,  but  nae  man  'ill  ever  gar  me  believe  the 
kirkyaird  bauds  Drumtochty. 

"  Na,  na,  a  've  watched  the  Glen  for  mony  a 
year,  an'  the  maist  hertsome  sicht  a'  hae  seen 
is  the  makin'  o'  men  an'  weeme^i.  They  're 
juist  thochtless  bairns  tae  begin  w^i',  as  we 
were  oorsels,  but  they  're  no  dune  wi'  schule 
aifter  they  leave  Domsie. 

"  Wark  comes  first,  and  fechtin'  awa  wi*  oor 
cauld  land  and  wringin'  eneuch  oot  o  't  tae  pay 
for  rent  and  livin'  pits  smeddum  (spirit)  into  a 
man.  Syne  comes  luve  tae  maist  o  's,  an* 
teaches  some  selfish,  shallow  cratur  tae  play 
the  man  for  a  wumman's  sake  ;  an'  laist  comes 
sorrow,  that  gars  the  loudest  o  's  tae  baud  his 
peace. 

"It's  a  lang  schulin',  but  it  hes  dune  its 
wark  weel  in  Drumtochty.  A  'm  no  sayin'  oor 
fouk  are  clever  or  that  they  haena  fauts,  but 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   FIRESIDE        155 

a  'm  prood  to  hev  been  born  and  lived  ma 
days  in  the  Glen.  A'  dinna  believe  there  's  a 
leear  amang  us — except  maybe  Milton,  an'  he 
cam  frae  Muirtown — nor  a  cooard  wha  wudna 
mak  his  hand  keep  his  head ;  nor  a  wastrel, 
when  Charlie  Grant  's  in  Ameriky  ;  nor  a  hard- 
herted  wratch  'at  wudna  help  his  neebur. 

"  It 's  a  rouch  schule  the  Glen,  an'  sae  wes 
puir  Domsie's ;  but,  sail,  he  sent  oot  lads  'at 
did  us  credit  in  the  warld,  an'  a  'm  judgin' 
Drumsheugh,  that  the  scholars  that  gied  oot  o 
the  Glen  the  ither  road  'ill  hae  their  chance 
tae,  an'  pit  naebody  tae  shame.  Ye  ken  a' 
hevna  hed  muckle  time  for  releegion,  but  a 
body  gies  a  thocht  tae  the  ither  warld  at  a 
time,  an'  that 's  ma  ain  mind." 

"  Ye  're  maybe  no  far  wrang.  Weelum ;  it 
soonds  wise  like,  but  ...  ye  canna  be  sure." 

"  A 've  seen  fouk  'at  were  sure,"  said  the 
doctor,  "an'  a'm  thankfu'  that  a  kent  auld 
Burnbrae.  He  wes  a  strict  man,  an'  mony  a 
lecture  he  gied  me  aboot  gaein'  tae  kirk  an' 
usin'  better  langidge,  but  a'  tell  ye,  he  wes  the 
richt  sort;  nae  peetifu'  chaff  o'  heepocrisy 
aboot  him. 

"  A'  wes  wi'  him  at  hi?  deith   .  .  ." 


156      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 

"Did  ye  see  onything?"  Drumsheugh 
leaned  forward  and  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

"  A'  saw  naething  but  a  gude  man  gaein' 
cot  on  his  lang  journey,  an'  a'  want  tae  see 
nae  graunder  sicht. 

"  He  wesna  conscious,  an'  his  wife,  puir 
wumman,  wes  murnin*  that  she  wudna  get  a 
last  look,  an'  John,  him  'at 's  Burnbrae  noo, 
wes  distressed  for  his  mither  's  sake. 

" '  Say  the  name,  '  for  a'  wes  holdin'  his 
head,  '  an'  he  'ill  hear  ; '  but  a'  cudna  ;  it  wesna 
for  my  tongue. 

"  So  he  said  it  into  his  father's  ear,  an'  Burn- 
brae opened  his  eyes,  and  githered  them  a'  in 
a  smile,  an'  a'  heard  twa  words. 

" '  No  evil.'  He  wes  past  sayin'  fear.  .  .  . 
Drumsheugh,  a'  wud  .  .  .  tak  ma  chance  the 
nicht  wi'  auld  Burnbrae." 

"  Ma  mither  didna  ken  us  for  the  laist  twa 
days,"  and  Drumsheugh  rested  his  head  on  his 
hands. 

"  Ye  mind  the  bit  lassiky" — Maclure  would 
tell  all  when  he  was  at  it — "  that  lived  wi ' 
Mary  Robertson  and  Jamie  Soutar  made  sic 
a  wark  aboot,  for  her  mither  wes  dead  ;  she 
wes  chokin'    wi'   her  tribble,    an'  a'   took  her 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    FIRESIDE  .57 

on  ma  knee,  for  Daisy  and  me  were  aye 
chief. 

"  '  Am  a'  gaein'  tae  dee  the  day  ?  '  she  said, 
an'  a'  cud  not  tell  a  lee  lookin'  intae  yon  een. 

"'Ye' re  no  feared,  dautie,' a'  said;  '  ye 'ill 
sune  be  hame.' 

"'  Hand  me  ticht,  then,  Docksie  ' — that  wes 
her  name  for  me — '  an'  mither  'ill  tak  me  oot 
o'  yir  airms.'  .  .  .  The  Almichty  wud  see  the 
wee  lassie  wesna  pit  tae  shame,  or  else  .  .  . 
that  's  no  His  name. 

"The  wind's  doon,"  and  the  doctor  hurried 
over  to  the  window,  "  an'  the  mune  is  shinin* 
clear  an'  sweet ;  a  '11  need  tae  be  aff,  an'  a  '11 
hae  the  licht  instead  o'  the  drift  aifter  a', 
Drumsheugh." 

Nothing  passed  between  them  till  they  came 
to  the  main  road,  and  the  doctor  said  good- 
night. 

Then  Drumsheugh  stood  close  in  to  the 
saddle,  and  adjusted  a  stirrup  leather. 

"You  an'  me  are  no  like  Burnbrae  and  the 
bairnie,  Weelum  ;  a  'm  feared  at  times  aboot 
.  .  .  the  home  comin'." 

"  A' dinna  wunner,  Drumsheugh,  a 'm  often 
the   same    masel  ;    we  're  baith  truant  laddies, 


158     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE    STORY 

and  maybe  we  'ill  get  oor  paiks,  an'  it  'ill  dae 
us  gude.  But  be  that  as  it  may,  we  maun  juist 
risk  it,  an'  a  'm  houpin'  the  Almichty  'ill  no  be 
waur  tae  us  than  oor  mither  when  the  sun  gaes 
doon  and  the  nicht  wind  sweeps  ower  the 
hill." 


II 

DRUMSHEUGH'S   SECRET 

When  Leezabeth  brought  word  that  Dr.  Mao 
lure  had  ridden  into  the  "  close,"  Drumsheugh 
knew  for  what  end  he  had  come,  but  it  was 
characteristic  of  Drumtochty  that  after  they 
had  exhausted  local  affairs,  he  should  be 
stricken  dumb  and  stare  into  the  fire  with 
averted  face.  For  a  space  the  doctor  sat 
silent,  because  we  respected  one  another's  souls 
in  the  Glen,  and  understood  the  agony  of 
serious  speech,  but  at  last  he  judged  it  right  to 
give  assistance. 

"  Ye  said  laist  nicht  that  ye  hed  something 
tae  say." 

"  A  'm  comin'  tae  't ;  juist  gie  me  twa 
meenuts  main"  But  it  was  ten  before  Drums- 
heugh opened  his  mouth,  although  he  ar- 
ranged himself  in  his  chair  and  made  as  though 
he  would  speak  three  times. 


i6o     DRUiMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 

"  Weelum,"  he  said  at  last,  and  then  he 
stopped,  for  his  courage  had  failed. 

"  A 'm  hearin',  Drum  ;  tak  yir  ain  time;  the 
fire  's  nccdin'  mcndin',''  and  the  Hght,  blazing 
up  suddenly,  showed  another  Drumsheugh 
than  was  known  on  Min"rtown  market. 

"  It 's  no  easy,  Weelum,  tae  say  onything 
that  gangs  deeper  than  the  weather  an*  cattle 
beasts."  Drumsheugh  passed  his  hand  across 
his  forehead,  and  Maclure's  pity  was  stirred. 

"  Gin  ye  hae  dune  onything  wrang,  an'  ye 
want  tae  relieve  yir  mind,  yc  may  lippen  tae 
me,  Drumsheugh,  though  it  titch  yir  life.  A' 
can  hand  ma  tongue,  an'  a  'm  a  leal  man. 

"  A'  thocht  it  wesna  that,"  as  Drumsheugh 
shook  his  head  ;  "  a  'm  jidgin'  that  ye  hae  a 
sorrow  the  Glen  disna  ken,  and  wud  like  an 
auld  freend  tae  feel  the  wecht  o  't  wi'  ye." 

Drumsheugh  looked  as  if  that  was  nearer  the 
mark,  but  still  he  was  silent. 

"A'  ken  what  yc 're  feelin*  for  a'  cudna 
speak  masel,"  and  then  he  added,  at  the  sight 
of  his  friend's  face,  "  Dinna  gar  yirsel  speak 
against  yir  wull.  We  'ill  say  naethin*  mair 
aboot  it.  .  .  .  Did  ye  hear  o'  Hillocks  coupin' 
intac  the  drift  till  there  wes   naethin'   seen   but 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   SECRET  i6i 

his  heels,  and  Gormack  sayin',  '  Whar  are  ye  aff 
tae  noo,  Hillocks  ?  '  " 

'*  A' maun  speak,"  burst  out  Drumsheugh  ; 
"a  Ve  carried  ma  tribble  for  mair  than  thirty 
year,  and  cud  hae  borne  it  till  the  end,  but  ae 
thing  a'  canna  stand,  an'  that  is,  that  aither 
you  or  me  dee  afore  a  've  cleared  ma  name." 

"Yir  name?"  and  the  doctor  regarded 
Drumsheugh  with  amazement. 

"  Ay,  ma  character ;  a  've  naethin'  else, 
Weelum,  naither  wife  nor  bairns,  so  a 'm  jeal- 
ous o 't,  though  fouk  michtna  think  it. 

"  Noo,  gin  onybody  in  Muirtown  askit  ma 
certeeficat  o'  a  Drumtochty  neebur,  gie  me  his 
answer,"  and  Drumsheugh  turned  suddenly  on 
Maclure,  who  was  much  confused. 

"  Nae  Drumtochty  man  wud  say  ony  ill  o* 
ye ;  he  daurna,  for  ye  've  gien  him  nae  occa- 
sion, an'  ye  surely  ken  that  yirsel  withoot 
askin'."     But  Drumsheugh  was  still  waiting. 

"  He  micht  say  that  ye  were  juist  a  wee," 
and  then  he  broke  off,  "  but  what  need  ye  care 
for  the  havers  of  a  market  ?  fouk  'ill  hae  their 
joke." 

"  Ye  said  a  wee  ;  what  is  't,  Weelum  ?  "  und 
the  doctor  saw  there  was  to  be  no  escape. 


i62    DRUMSHEUGH'S    LOVE    STORY 

"Weel,  they  micht  maybe  be  sayin'  behind 
yir  back,  Drum,  what  some  o'  them  wud  say 
tae  yir  face,  meanin'  nae  evil,  ye  ken,  that  ye 
were  .  .  .  carefu',  in  fact,  an'  .  .  .  keen  aboot 
the  bawbees.  Naethin'  mair  nor  worse  than 
that,  as  a  'm  sittin'  here." 

"  Naethin*  mair,  said  ye  ?"  Drumsheugh  spoke 
with  much  bitterness — "  an'  is  yon  Httle  ? 
*  Carefu' ;'  ye  're  a  gude-hearted  man,  Weekim  ; 
miser  's  nearer  it,  a  'm  dootin',  a  wratch  that  'ill 
hae  the  laist  penny  in  a  bargain,  and  no  spend 
a  saxpence  gin  he  can  keep  it." 

Maclure  saw  it  was  not  a  time  to  speak. 

"  They  've  hed  mony  a  lauch  in  the  train 
ower  ma  tigs  wi'  the  dealers,  an'  some  o'  them 
w^ud  hae  like  tae  hev  cam  aff  as  weel — a  cratur 
Hke  Milton  ;  but  what  dis  Burnbrae,  'at  coonted 
his  verra  livin'  less  than  his  principles,  or  auld 
Domsie,  that 's  dead  an'  gane  noo,  'at  wud  hae 
spent  his  laist  shillin'  sendin'  a  laddie  tae  the 
College — he  gied  it  tae  me  aince  het,  like  the 
man  he  wes — or  the  minister,  wha  wud  dee 
raither  than  condescend  tae  a  meanness,  or 
what  can  .  .  .  Marget  Hoo  think  o'  me  ?"  and 
the  wail  in  Drumsheugh's  voice  went  to  the 
heart  of  Maclure. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    SECRET  163 

"Dinna  tak  on  like  this,  Drum;  it's  wae- 
some  tae  hear  ye,  an'  it  's  clean  havers  ye  're 
speakin'  the  nicht.  Didna  Domsie  get  mony  a 
note  frae  ye  for  his  college  laddies  ? — a  've 
heard  him  on  't — an'  it  wes  you  'at  paid  Geordie 
Hoo's  fees,  an'  Avha  wes  't  brocht  Sir  George 
an'  savit  Annie  Mitchell's  life ?" 

••  That  didna  cost  me  muckle  in  the  end,  sin'  it 
wes  your  daein'  an'  no  mine  ;  an'  as  for  the  bit 
fees  for  the  puir  scholars,  they  were  naethin'  ava. 

"  Na,  na,  Weelum,  it  'ill  no  dae.  A'  ken 
the  hert  o'  ye  weel,  and  ye  'ill  stan'  by  yir 
freend  through  fair  and  foul ;  but  a  'm  gaein' 
tae  clear  things  up  aince  for  a' ;  a  '11  never 
gang  through  this  again. 

''It's  no  the  Glen  a'm  thinkin*  aboot  the 
nicht ;  a  Avud  like  tae  hae  their  gude  opinion, 
an*  a  'm  no  what  they  're  considerin'  me,  but  a' 
canna  gie  them  the  facts  o'  the  case,  an*  .  .  . 
a'  maun  juist  dee  as  a'  hev  lived. 

"  What  cuts  me  tae  the  hert  is  that  the  twa 
fouk  a'  luve  sud  hae  reason  to  jidge  me  a  miser ; 
ane  o'  them  wuU  never  ken  her  mistake,  but 
a  '11  pit  masel  richt  wi'  the  ither.  Weelum,  for 
what  div  ye  think  a  've  been  scrapin'  for  a'  thae 
years?" 


104      DRUMSHEUGH'S    LOVE    STORY 

"  Weel,  gin  ye  wull  hae  ma  mind,"  said  the 
doctor  slowly,  "  a'  believed  ye  lied  been  crossed 
in  luve,  for  ye  telt  me  as  much  yersel.  ..." 

''  Ye  're  richt,  Weelum  ;  a  '11  tell  ye  mair  the 
nicht  ;  gang  on." 

"  It  cam  tae  ma  mind  that  ye  turned  tae  bar- 
gainin'  an'  savin',  no  for  greed — a'  kent  there 
wes  nae  greed  in  ye ;  div  ye  suppose  a'  cudna 
tell  the  differ  atween  ma  freend  an'  Milton  ? — 
but  for  a  troke  tae  keep  yir  mind  aff  .  .  .  aff 
yir  sorrow." 

"  Thank  ye,  Weelum,  thank  }'e  kindly,  but  it 
wesna  even  on  accoont  o'  that  a  've  lived  barer 
than  ony  plooman  for  the  best  part  o'  ma  life  ; 
a'  tell  ye,  beyond  the  stockin'  on  ma  fairm  a'm 
no  worth  twa  hunder  pund  this  nicht. 

"  It  wes  for  anither  a'  githered,  an'  as  fast  as 
I  got  the  gear  a*  gied  it  awa,"  and  Drumsheugh 
sprang  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  shining ;  "  it  wes  for 
luv^e's  sake  a*  haggled  an*  schemed  an'  stairved 
an'  toiled  till  a  *ve  been  a  byword  at  kirk  and 
market  for  nearness;  a'  did  it  a'  an'  bore  it  a' 
for  ma  luve,  an*  for  .  .  .  ma  luve  a'  wud  hae 
dune  ten  times  mair. 

^'  Did  ye  ken  wha  it  wes,  Weelum?" 

"  Ye    never    mentioned    her    name,    but    a' 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   SECRET  165 

jaloosed,  an'  there 's  nane  like  her  in  the 
Glen " 

"  No,  nor  in  braid  Scotland  for  me  !  She  'ill 
aye  be  the  bonniest  as  weel  as  the  noblest  o' 
weemen  in  ma  een  till  they  be  stickit  in  deith. 
But  ye  never  saw  Marget  in  her  bloom,  when 
the  blossom  wes  on  the  tree,  for  a'  mind  ye 
were  awa  in  Edinburgh  thae  years,  learning  yir 
business. 

"  A'  left  the  schule  afore  she  cam,  an'  the 
first  time  a'  ever  kent  Marget  richt  wes  the  day 
she  settled  wi'  her  mither  in  the  cottar's  hoose 
on  Drumsheugh,  an'  she  's  hed  ma  hert  sin'  that 
'oor. 

"  It  wesna  her  winsome  face  nor  her  gentle 
ways  that  drew  me,  Weelum  ;  it  wes  .  .  .  her 
soul,  the  gudeness  'at  lookit  oot  on  the  warld 
through  yon  grey  een,  sae  serious,  thochtfu', 
kindly. 

"  Nae  man  cud  say  a  rouch  word  or  hae  a 
ill  thocht  in  her  presence ;  she  made  )'e  better 
juist  tae  hear  her  speak  an'stan'  aside  her  at  the 
wark. 

"  A'  hardly  ever  spoke  tae  her  for  the  three 
year  she  wes  wi  's,  an'  a'  said  na  word  o'  luve. 
A'  houpit  some  day  tae  win  her,  an'  a'  wes  mair 


i66     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

than  content  tae  hae  her  near  me.  Thae  years 
were  bitter  tae  me  aifterwards,  but,  man,  a* 
wudna  be  withoot  them  noo  ;  they  're  a'  the 
time  a'  ever  hed  wi'  Marget. 

"  A  'm  a-wearyin'  ye,  Weekmi,  wi'  what  can 
be  Httle  mair  than  havers  tae  anither  man." 
But  at  the  look  on  the  doctor's  face,  he  added, 
"  A  '11  tell  ye  a'  then,  an'  ...  a  '11  never  men- 
tion her  name  again.  Ye  're  the  only  man  ever 
heard  me  say  *  Marget'  like  this. 

"  Weelum,  a*  wes  a  man  thae  days,  an' 
thochts  cam  tae  me  'at  gared  the  hert  leap  in 
ma  breist,  and  ma  blude  rin  like  the  Tochty  in 
spate.  When  a'  drave  the  scythe  through  the 
corn  in  hairst,  and  Marget  lifted  the  gowden 
swathe  ahint  me,  a'  said,  '  This  is  hoo  a  '11  toil 
an'  fecht  for  her  a'  the  days  o*  oor  life ;'  an* 
when  she  gied  me  the  sheaves  at  the  mill  for 
the  threshin',  '  This  is  hoo  she  'ill  bring  a'  guid 
things  tae  ma  hame.* 

"  Aince  her  hand  touched  mine — a'  see  a 
withered  forget-me-not  among  the  aits  this 
meenut — an'  .  .  .  that  wes  the  only  time  a' 
ever  hed  her  hand  in  mine  ...  a'  hoddit  the 
floor,  an',  Weelum,  a'  hev  it  tae  this  day. 

"There's  a  stile  on  the  road  tae  the  hill,  an' 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    SECRET  167 

a  hawthorn-tree  at  the  side  o  't ;  it  wes  there 
she  met  ae  sweet  simmer  evenin',  when  the 
corn  wes  turnin'  yellow,  an'  telt  me  they  wud 
be  leavin'  their  hoose  at  Martinmas.  Her 
face  hed  a  licht  on  it  a'  hed  never  seen. 
'  A  'm   tae  be   marriet,'  she   said,  '  tae  William 

owe,   .  .   . 

"  Puir  lad,  puir  lad,  aifter  a'  yir  houps ;  did 
ye  lat  her  ken  ?  " 

"  Na,  na;  it  wes  ower  late,  an'  wud  only  hae 
vexed  her.  Howe  and  her  hed  been  bairns 
thegither,  an' a 've  heard  he  wes  kind  tae  her 
father  when  he  wes  sober  (weakly),  an'  so  .  .  . 
he  got  her  hert.  A'  cudna  hae  changed  her, 
but  a'  micht  hae  made  her  meeserable. 

"  A '  leaned  ower  that  stile  for  twa  lang  oors. 
Mony  a  time  a  've  been  there  sin'  then,  by 
nicht  and  day.  Hoo  the  Glen  wud  lauch,  for 
a  'm  no  the  man  they  see.  A  '  saw  the  sun  gae 
doon  that  nicht,  an'  a'  felt  the  darkness  fa'  on 
me,  an'  a'  kent  the  licht  hed  gane  oot  o'  ma 
life  for  ever." 

"  Ye  carried  yersel  like  a  man,  though,"  and 
the  doctor's  voice  was  full  of  pride,  "  but  ye  've 
hed  a  sair  battle,  Drum,  an'  nae  man  tae  say 
weel  dune." 


i68     DRUMSHEUGH'S    LOVE    STORY 

"  Dinna  speak  that  wy,  Weelum,  for  a  'm  no 
say  gude  as  ye  're  thinkin' ;  frae  that  oor  tae 
Geordie's  illness  a'  never  spak  ae  word  o'  kind- 
ness tae  Marget,  an'  gin  hatred  wud  hae  killed 
him,  she  wud  hae  lost  her  bridegroom. 

"Gude  forgie  me,"  and  the  drops  stood  on 
Drumsheugh's  forehead.  "  When  Hoo  cudna 
pay,  and  he  wes  tae  be  turned  oot  of  Whinnie 
Knowe,  a*  lauched  tae  masel,  though  there  isna 
a  kinder,  simpler  heart  in  the  Glen  than  puir 
Whinnie's.  There  maun  be  some  truth  in  thae 
auld  stories  aboot  a  deevil ;  he  hed  an  awfu' 
grup  o'  me  the  end  o*  that  year. 

"  But  a'  never  hatit  her;  a'  think  a've  luvit 
her  mair  every  year ;  and  when  a'  thocht  o'  her 
trachlin'  in  some  bit  hoosie  as  a  plooman's  wife, 
wha  wes  fit  for  a  castle,  ma  hert  wes  melted. 

"  Gin  she  hed  gien  me  her  luve,  wha  never 
knew  a'  wantit  it,  a'  wud  hae  spilt  ma  blude 
afore  she  felt  care,  an'  though  ye  see  me 
naethin'  but  a  cankered,  contrackit,  auld  carle 
this  day,  a'  wud  hae  made  her  happy  aince, 
Weelum.  A'  wes  different  when  a'  wes  young," 
and  Drumsheugh  appealed  to  his  friend. 

"  Dinna  misca'  yersel  tae  me,  Drum  ;  it 's  nae 
use,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  shaky  voice. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   SECRET  169 

"Wed,  it  wesna  tae  be,"  resumed  Drums- 
heugh  after  a  little  ;  "a*  cudna  be  her  man.  but 
it  seemed  tae  me  ae  day  that  a'  micht  work  for 
Marget  a'  the  same,  an'  naebody  wud  ken.  So 
a'  gied  intae  Muirtown  an'  got  a  writer " 

The  doctor  sprang  to  his  feet  in  such  excite- 
ment as  was  hardly  known  in  Drumtochty. 

"  What  a  fule  ye  've  made  o'  the  Glen,  Drums- 
heugh,  and  what  a  heepocrite  ye  've  been.  It 
wes  you  then  that  sent  hame  the  money  frae 
Ameriky  'at  cleared  Whinnie's  f-eet  and  set 
Marget  and  him  up  bien  (plentiful)  like  on  their 
merrid,"  and  then  Maclure  could  do  the  rest 
for  himself  without  assistance. 

"  It  wud  be  you  tae  'at  started  Whinnie 
again  aifter  the  Pleuro  took  his  cattle,  for  he 
wes  aye  an  unlucky  wratch,  an'  if  it  wesna  you 
that  deed  oot  in  New  York  and  savit  him  five 
years  ago,  when  the  stupid  body  pit  his  name 
tae  Piggie's  bill.  It 's  you  'at  wes  Whinnie's 
far-awa'  cousin,  wha  hed  gotten  rich  and  sent 
hame  help  through  the  lawyer,  an'  naebody 
suspeckit  onything. 

"  Drumsheugh' ' — and  the  doctor,  who  had 
been  finding  the  room  too  small  for  him,  came 
to  a  halt  opposite  his  friend — "  ye  're  the  maist 


I70     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE    STORY 

accomplished  leear  'at 's  ever  been  born  in 
Drumtochty,  an'  .  .  .  the  best  man  a'  ever  saw. 
Eh,  Drum,"  and  Maclure's  voice  sank,  "  hoo 
little  we  kent  ye.  It 's  an  awfu'  peety  Domsie 
didna  hear  o'  this  afore  he  slippit  awa' ;  a'  can 
see  him  straichtenin'  himsel  at  the  story. 
Jamie  Soutar  'ill  be  michty  when  he  gets  a 
hand  o  't.  .  .  ." 

Twice  Drumsheugh  had  tried  to  interrupt 
Maclure  and  failed,  but  now  he  brought  his 
hand  down  upon  the  table. 

"  Wud  ye  daur,  Weelum,  tae  mention  ae 
word  a'  hae  telt  ye  ootside  this  room  ?  gin  a' 

thocht    he    wes    the    man "     And    Drums- 

heugh's  face  was  blazing. 

"  Quiet,  man,  quiet !  Ye  ken  a'  wudna  with- 
oot  yir  wull  ;  but  juist  ae  man,  Jamie  Soutar. 
Ye  'ill  lat  me  share  't  wi'  Jamie." 

"  No  even  Jamie  ;  an'  a  'm  ashamed  tae  hae 
telt  yersel,  for  it  looks  like  boastin';  an'  aifter 
a'  it  wes  a  bit  o'  comfort  tae  me  in  ma  cauldrife 
life. 

"  It  's  been  a  gey  lang  trial,  Weelum  ;  ye 
canna  think  what  it  wes  tae  see  her  sittin'  in  the 
kirk  ilka  Sabbath  wi'  her  man,  tae  follow  her 
face    in  the  Psalms,  tae  catch  her  een  in   the 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    SECRET  171 

Saicrament,  an'  tae  ken  that  a'  never  wud  say 
*  Marget  '  tae  her  in  luve. 

"  For  thirty  year  an'  mair  a  've  studied  her. 
an'  seen  her  broon  hair  that  wes  like  gowd  in 
the  sunhght  turn  grey,  and  care  score  lines  on 
her  face,  but  every  year  she  's  comelier  in  ma 
een. 

"Whinnie  telt  us  his  tribble  aboot  the  bill  in 
the  kirkyard,  an'  a'  saw  the  marks  o  't  in  her 
look.  There  wes  a  tear  ran  doon  her  cheek  in 
the  prayer,  an'  a'  .  .  .  cud  hae  grat  wi'  her,  an' 
then  ma  hert  loupit  wi'  joy,  for  a'  thocht 
there  '11  be  nae  tear  next  Sabbath. 

"  Whinnie  got  the  siller  frae  his  .  .  .  cousin, 
ye  ken,  through  the  week,  an'  settled  his  debt 
on  Friday.  A'  met  him  on  the  street,  an'  made 
him  buy  a  silk  goon  for  Marget  :  .  .  .  a'  gied 
wi'  him  tae  choose  it,  for  he  's  little  jidgment, 
Whinnie." 

"A'  wes  in  the  train  that  day  masel,"  broke 
in  the  doctor,  "an'  a'  mind  Hillocks  daffin'  wi' 
ye  that  nae  wumman  cud  get  a  goon  oot  o'  you. 
Sic  fules  an'  waur." 

"  A'  didna  mind  that,  no  ae  straw,  Weelum, 
for  Marget  wes  ten  year  younger  next  Sabbath, 
an'  she  wore  ma  goon  on  the  Saicrament.     A' 


172     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

kent  what  bocht  it,  an'  that  was  eneuch  for 
me. 

"  It  didna  maitter  what  the  Glen  said,  but  ae 
thing  gied  tae  ma  hert,  an'  thet  wes  Marget's 
thocht  o'  me  .  .  .  but  a*  daurna  clear  masel. 

"We  were  stannin'  thegither  ae  Sabbath" — 
Drumsheugh  spoke  as  one  giving  a  painful 
memory,  on  which  he  had  often  brooded — "  an' 
gaein'  ower  the  market,  an'  Hillocks  says,  '  A' 
dinna  ken  the  man  orwumman''at  'ill  get  a 
bawbee  oot  o'  you,  Drumsheugh.  Ye  're  the 
hardest  lad  in  ten  parishes.' 

"  Marget  passed  that  meenut  tae  the  kirk,  an' 
...  a'  saw  her  look.  Na,  it  wesna  scorn,  nor 
peety ;  it  wes  sorrow.  .  .  .  This  wes  a  bien 
hoose  in  the  auld  day  when  she  wes  on  the 
fairm,  an'  she  wes  wae  tae  see  sic  a  change  in 
me.  A'  hed  tae  borrow  the  money  through 
the  lawyer,  ye  ken,  an'  it  wes  a  fecht  pay  in'  it 
wi'  interest.  Aye,  but  it  wes  a  pleesure  tae,  a' 
that  a '11  ever  hev,  Weelum.  ..." 

"Did  ye  never  want  tae  .  .  .  tell  her?"  and 
the  doctor  looked  curiously  at  Drumsheugh. 

"  Juist  aince,  Weelum,  in  hergairden,  an'  the 
day  Geordie  deed.  Marget  tha  ^.kit  me  for  the 
college  fees  and  bit  expenses  a'  hed  paid.     'A 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   SECRET  173 

father  cudna  hae  been  kinder  tae  ma  laddie,' 
she  said,  an'  she  laid  her  hand  on  ma  airm. 
'  Ye  're  a  gude  man,  a'  see  it  clear  this  day,  an' 
.  .  .  ma  hert  is  .  .  .  warm  tae  ye.'  A'  ran  oot 
o'  the  gairden.  A'  micht  hae  broken  doon. 
Oh,  gin  Geordie  hed  been  ma  ain  laddie  an' 
Marget  .  .  .  ma  wife." 

Maclure  waited  a  little,  and  then  he  quietly 
left,  but  first  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's 
shoulder  to  show  that  he  understood. 

After  he  had  gone,  Drumsheugh  opened  his 
desk  and  took  out  a  withered  flower.  He 
pressed  it  twice  to  his  lips,  and  each  time  he 
said  Marget  with  a  sob  that  rent  his  heart. 
It  was  the  forget-me-not. 


Ill 

DRUMSHEUGH'S   REWARD 

People  tell  us  that  if  you  commit  a  secret  to 
a  dweller  in  the  city,  and  exact  pledges  of 
faithfulness,  the  confidence  will  be  proclaimed 
on  the  housetops  within  twenty-four  hours, 
and  yet,  that  no  charge  of  treachery  can  be 
brought  against  your  friend.  He  has  simply 
succumbed  to  the  conflict  between  the  habit  of 
free  trade  in  speech  and  the  sudden  embargo 
on  one  article.  Secret  was  engraved  on  his 
face  and  oozed  from  the  skirts  of  his  garments, 
so  that  every  conversational  detective  saw  at  a 
glance  that  the  man  was  carrying  treasure,  and 
seized  it  at  his  will. 

When  one  told  a  secret  thing  to  his  neigh- 
bour in  Drumtochty,  it  did  not  make  a  ripple 
on  the  hearer's  face,  and  it  disappeared  as  into 
a  deep  well.  "  Ay,  ay  "  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary  as   an   assurance   of    attention,    and    the 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   REWARD  175 

farthest  expression  of  surprise  did  not  go  be- 
yond, "  That  wesna  chancy."  Whether  a  Drum- 
tochty  man  ever  turned  over  secrets  in  the 
recesses  of  his  mind,  no  one  can  tell,  but  when 
Jamie  Soutar,  after  an  hour's  silence,  one  even- 
ing withdrew  his  pipe  and  said  ''  Sail "  with 
marked  emphasis,  it  occurred  to  me  that  he 
may  have  been  digesting  an  event.  Perhaps 
the  law  of  silence  was  never  broken  except 
once,  but  that  was  on  a  royal  scale,  when 
William  Maclure  indirectly  let  out  the  romance 
of  Drumsheugh's  love  to  Marget  Howe,  and 
afterwards  was  forgiven  by  his  friend. 

Marget  had  come  to  visit  the  doctor  about 
a  month  before  he  died,  bearing  gifts,  and 
after  a  while  their  conversation  turned  to 
George. 

"  Dinna  speak  aboot  ma  traivellin'  tae  see 
ye,"  Marget  said;  "there's  no  a  body  in  the 
Glen  but  is  behaddit  tae  ye,  an'  a'  can  never 
forget  what  ye  did  for  ma  laddie  yon  laig 
summer-time." 

*'  A'  did  naethin',  an'  nae  man  can  dae  muckle 
in  that  waesome  tribble.  It  aye  taks  the  clev- 
erest laddies  an'  the  bonniest  lassies ;  but  a* 
never   hed  a   heavier   hert    than    when    a'  saw 


176     DRUMSHEUGH'S    LOVE   STORY 

Geordie's  face  that  aifternoon.  There 's  ane 
fechtin'  decHne." 

"Ye  mak  ower  little  o'  yir  help,  doctor;  it 
wes  you  'at  savit  him  frae  pain  an'  keepit  his 
mind  clear.  Withoot  you  he  cudna  workit  on 
tae  the  end  or  seen  his  freends.  A'  the  Glen 
cam  up  tae  speir  for  him,  and  say  a  cheery 
word  tae  their  scholar, 

"  Did  a'  ever  tell  ye  that  Posty  wud  gang 
roond  a  gude  half  mile  oot  o'  his  road  gin  he 
hed  a  letter  for  Geordie  juist  tae  pit  it  in  his 
hands  himsel  ?  and  Posty  's  a  better  man  sin 
then ;  but  wha  div  ye  think  wes  kindest  aifter 
Domsie  an'  yersel  ?" 

'' Wha  wes 't  ?"  but  Maclure  lifted  his  head, 
as  if  he  had  already  heard  the  name. 

"  Ay,  ye  're  richt,"  answering  the  look  of  his 
friend,  "  Drumsheugh  it  wes,  an'  a'  that  simmer 
he  wes  sae  gentle  and  thochtfu'  the  Glen  wudna 
hae  kent  him  in  oor  gairden. 

"Ye'veseen  him  there  yersel,  but  wud  ye 
believe 't,  he  cam  three  times  a  week,  and 
never  empty-handed.  Ae  day  it  wud  be  some 
tasty  bit  frae  Muirtown  tae  gar  Geordie  eat, 
another  it  wud  be  a  buke  the  laddie  had  wantit 
tae  buy  at  College,  an'  a  month  afore  Geordie 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    REWARD  177 

left  us,  if  Drumsheugh  didna  come  up  ae  Sait- 
urday  wi'  a  parcel  he  had  gotten  a'  the  way 
frae  London. 

" '  Whatna  place  is  this,  Geordie  ? '  an'  he 
taks  aff  the  cover  an'  holds  up  the  picture. 
It  wud  hae  dune  ye  gude  tae  hae  seen  the 
licht  in  the  laddie's  een.  'Athens,'  he  cried, 
an'  then  he  reached  oot  his  white  hand  tae 
Drumsheugh,  but  naethin'  wes  said. 

"  They  were  at  it  the  hale  forenoon,  Geordie 
showin'  the  Temple  the  Greeks  set  up  tae  Wis- 
dom, an'  the  theatre  in  the  shadow  of  the  hill 
whar  the  Greek  prophets  preached  their  ser- 
mons;  an'  as  a'  gied  oot  an'  in,  Geordie  wud 
read  a  bonnie  bit,  and  Domsie  himsel  cudna 
hae  been  mair  interested  than  Drumsheugh. 
The  deein'  scholar  an'  the  auld  fairmer.  .  .  ." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Maclure. 

"  Ae  story  Geordie  telt  me  never  ran  dry  wi' 
Drumsheugh,  an'  he  aye  askit  tae  hear  it  as  a 
treat  till  the  laddie  grew  ower  sober — aboot 
twa  lovers  in  the  auld  days,  that  were  divided 
by  an  airm  o'  the  sea,  whar  the  water  ran  in 
a  constant  spate,  and  the  lad  hed  tae  sweem 
across  tae  see  his  lass.  She  held  a  licht  on 
high   tae   guide    him,    an'  at    the  sicht  o  't  he 


178     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE    STORY 

cared  naethin'  for  the  danger;  but  ae  nicht 
the  cauld,  peetiless  water  gied  ower  his  head, 
and  her  torch  burned  oot.  Puir  faithfu'  lass, 
she  flung  hersel  into  the  black  flood,  and  deith 
jined  them  where  there  's  nae  partin'." 

"  He  likit  that,  did  he  ?"  said  Maclure,  with  a 
tone  in  his  v^oice,  and  looking  at  Marget  curi- 
ously. 

"  Best  o'  a'  the  ancient  things  George  gied 
him  in  the  gairden,  an'  ae  day  he  nearly  grat, 
but  it  wesna  for  their  deith. 

"  '  Na,  na,'  he  said  tae  George,  '  a'  coont  him 
happy,  for  he  hed  a  reward  for  the  black  cross- 
in'  ;  laddie,  mony  a  man  wud  be  wullin'  tae 
dee  gin  he  wes  luved.  What  think  ye  o'  a 
man  fechtin'  through  the  ford  a'  his  life  wi'  nae 
kindly  licht  ?  '  , 

"  Geordie  wes  wae  for  him,  an'  telt  me  in  the 
gloamin',  an'  it  set  me  thinkin'.  Cud  it  be  that 
puir  Drumsheugh  micht  hae  luved  an'  been  re- 
fused, an'  naebody  kent  o 't  ?  Nane  but.  the 
Almichty  sees  the  sorrow  in  ilka  hert,  an'  them 
'at  suffers  maist  says  least. 

"  It  cam  tae  me  that  he  must  hae  luved,  for 
he  wes  that  conseederate  wi'  Geordie,  sae  wum- 
manlike    in    his    manner   wi'    the    pillows   and 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    REWARD  179 

shawls,  sae  wilie  in  findin'  oot  what  wud  please 
the  laddie  ;  he  learned  yon  in  anither  place 
than  Muirtown  Market.  Did  ye  .  .  .  ever  hear 
onything,  doctor?  It 's  no  for  clashin'  (gossip) 
a*  wud  ask,  but  for  peety  an*  his  gudeness  tae 
ma  bairn." 

"  Is 't  likely  he  wud  tell  ony  man,  even 
though  he  be  his  freend.''"  and  Maclure  fenced 
bravely,  "  did  ye  hear  naethin*  in  the  auld  days 
when  ye  wes  on  Drumsheugh  ?  "      ^ 

"  No  a  whisper  ;  he  wes  never  in  the  mooth 
o*  the  Glen,  an'  he  wesna  the  same  then  ;  he 
wes  quiet  and  couthy,  ceevil  tae  a'  the  workin' 
fouk  ;  there  wes  nae  meanness  in  Drumsheugh 
in  thae  days.  A  've  often  thocht  nae  man  in  a' 
the  Glen  wud  hae  made  a  better  husband  tae 
some  gude  wumman  than  Drumsheugh.  It 
passes  me  hoo  he  turned  sae  hard  and  near 
for  thirty  years.  But  dinna  ye  think  the  rael 
Drumsheugh  has  come  oot  again  ?" 

The  doctor  seemed  to  be  restraining  speech. 

"  He  's  no  an  ordinary  man,  whatever  the 
Glen  may  think,"  and  Marget  seemed  to  be 
meditating.  "  Noo  he  wudna  enter  the  hoose, 
an'  he  wes  that  agitat  that  aince  when  a'  brocht 
him  his  tea  he  let  the  cup  drop  on  the  graivel. 


i8o     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE    STORY 

Be  sure  there  's  twa  fouk  in  every  ane  o  's — ae 
Drumsheugh  'at  focht  \vi'  the  dealers  an'  lived 
like  a  miser,  an'  anither  that  gied  the  money 
for  Tammas  Mitchell's  wife  an'  nursit  ma 
laddie." 

Maclure  would  have  been  sadly  tried  in  any 
case,  but  it  was  only  a  week  ago  Drumsheugh 
had  made  his  confession.  Besides,  he  was  near 
the  end,  and  his  heart  was  jealous  for  his  friend. 
It  seemed  the  worse  treachery  to  be  silent. 

"There  's  juist  ae  Drumsheugh,  Marget  Hoo, 
as  ye  *re  a  leevin*  wumman,  him  ye  saw  in  the 
gairden,  wha  wud  hae  denied  himsel  a  meal  o' 
meat  tae  get  thae  pictures  for  yir  .  .  .  for 
Geordie. 

"The  Glen  disna  ken  Drumsheugh,  and 
never  wull  this  side  o'  the  grave,"  and  the 
doctor's  voice  was  ringing  with  passion,  and 
something  like  tears  were  in  his-  eyes  ;  "  but 
gin  there  be  a  jidgment  an'  .  .  .  books  be 
opened,  the  'ill  be  ane  for  Drumtochty,  and  the 
bravest  page  in  it  'ill  be  Drumsheugh's. 

"  Ye 're  astonished,  an*  it's  nae  wunder  " — ■ 
for  the  look  in  Marget's  grey  eyes  demanded 
more — "  but  what  a'  say  is  true.  It  hes  never 
been   for  himsel  he  *s  pinched   an'  bargained  ; 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   REWARD  i8i 

it  wes  for  .  .  .  for  a  freend  he  wantit  tae  help, 
an'  that  wes  aye  in  tribble.  He  thocht  'at  it 
micht  .  .  .  hurt  his  freend's  feelin's  and  pit 
him  tae  shame  in  his  pairish  gin  it  were  kent, 
so  he  took  the  shame  himsel.  A'  daurna  tell 
ye  mair,  for  it  wud  be  brakin*  bonds  atween 
man  and  man,  but  ye  've  herd  eneuch  tae  clear 
Drumsheugh's  name  wi'  ae  wumman." 

"  Mair  than  cleared,  doctor,"  and  Marget's 
face  glowed,  "  far  mair,  for  ye  've  shown  me 
that  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  is  no  a  dead 
letter  the  day,  an'  ye  've  lifted  the  clood  frae  a 
gude  man.  Noo  a  '11  juist  hae  the  rael  Drums- 
heugh,  Geordie's  Drumsheugh,"  and  again 
Marget  thanked  Maclure  afresh. 

For  the  moment  the  heroism  of  the  deed  had 
carried  her  away,  but  as  she  went  home  the 
pity  of  it  all  came  over  her.  For  the  best  part 
of  his  life  had  this  man  been  toiling  and  suf- 
fering, all  that  another  might  have  comfort, 
and  all  this  travail  without  the  recompense  of 
love.  What  patience,  humility,  tenderness, 
sacrifice  lay  in  unsuspected  people.  How 
long?  .  .  .  Perhaps  thirty  years,  and  no  one 
knew,  and  no  one  said,  "Well  done!"  He 
had  veiled   his  good   deeds  well,  and  accepted 


iS^    DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

many  a  jest  that  must  have  cut  him  to  the 
quick.  Marget's  heart  began  to  warm  to  this 
unassuming  man  as  it  had  not  done  even  by 
George's  chair. 

The  footpath  from  the  doctor's  to  Whinnie 
Knowe  passed  along  the  front  of  the  hill  above 
the  farm  of  Drumsheugh,  and  Marget  came  to 
the  cottage  where  she  had  lived  with  her 
mother  in  the  former  time.  It  was  empty,  and 
she  went  into  the  kitchen.  How  home-like  it 
had  been  in  those  days,  and  warm,  even  in  win- 
ter, for  Drumsheugh  had  made  the  wright 
board  over  the  roof  and  put  in  new  windows. 
Her  mother  was  never  weary  speaking  of 
his  kindness,  yet  they  were  only  working  peo- 
ple. The  snow  had  drifted  down  the  wide 
chimney  and  lay  in  a  heap  on  the  hearth,  and 
Marget  shivered.  The  sorrow  of  life  came 
upon  her — the  mother  and  the  son  now  lying 
in  the  kirkyard.  Then  the  blood  rushed  to 
her  heart  again,  for  love  endures  and  triumphs. 
But  sorrow  without  love  .  .  .  her  thoughts  re- 
turned to  Drumsheugh,  whose  hearthstone  was 
cold  indeed.  She  was  now  looking  down  on 
his  home,  set  in  the  midst  of  the  snow.  Its 
cheerlessness  appealed  to  her — the  grey  sombre 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   REWARD  183 

house  where  this  man,  with  his  wealth  of  love, 
lived  alone.  Was  not  that  Drumsheugh  him- 
self crossing  the  laigh  field,  a  black  figure  on 
the  snow,  with  his  dog  behind  him  .  .  .  going 
home  where  there  was  none  to  welcome  him 
.  .  .  thinking,  perhaps,  what  might  have  been  ? 
.  .  .  Suddenly  Marget  stopped  and  opened  a 
gate.  .  .  .  Why  should  he  not  have  company 
for  once  in  his  lonely  life  ...  if  the  woman 
he  loved  had  been  hard  to  him,  w^hy  should 
not  one  woman  whom  he  had  not  loved  take 
her  place  for  one  half  hour? 

When  Drumsheugh  came  round  the  corner 
of  the  farmhouse,  looking  old  and  sad,  Marget 
was  waiting,  and  was  amazed  at  the  swift 
change  upon  him. 

"Ye  didna  expect  me,"  she  said,  coming  to 
meet  him  with  the  rare  smile  that  lingered 
round  the  sweet  curves  of  her  lips,  "  an'  maybe 
it  's"a  leeberty  a  'm  takin'  ;  but  ye  ken  kindness 
breaks  a'  barriers,  an'  for  the  sake  o'  Geordie 
a'  cudna  passyir  hoose  this  nicht  withoot  tellin' 
that  ye  were  in  ma  hert." 

Drumsheugh  had  not  one  word  to  say,  but 
he  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his  for  an  instant, 
and  then,  instead  of  going  in  by  the  kitchen,  as 


i84      DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE    STORY 

all  visitors  were  brought,  save  only  the  minis- 
ter and  Lord  Kilspindie,  he  led  Marget  round 
to  the  front  door  with  much  ceremony.  It  was 
only  in  the  lobby  he  found  his  tongue,  and  still 
he  hesitated,  as  one  overcome  by  some  great 
occasion. 

"  Ye  sud  be  in  the  parlour,  Marget  Hoo,  but 
there  's  no  been  a  fire  there  for  mony  a  year ; 
wull  ye  come  intae  ma  ain  bit  room  ?  .  .  .  A' 
wud  like  tae  see  ye  there,"  and  Marget  saw 
that  he  was  trembling,  as  he  placed  her  in  a 
chair  before  the  fire. 

"  Ye  were  aince  in  this  room,"  he  said,  and 
now  he  was  looking  at  her  wistfully  ;  "  div  ye 
mind  ?   it 's  lang  syne." 

"  It  wes  when  a'  cam'  tae  pay  oor  rent  afore 
we  flitted,  and  ye  hed  tae  seek  for  change,  an' 
a'  thocht  ye  were  angry  at  oor  leavin'." 

"  No  angry,  na,  na,  a'  wesna  angry  ...  it 
took  me  half  an  oor  tae  find  some  siller,  an'  a' 
the  time  ye  were  sittin'  in  that  verra  chair  .  .  . 
that  wes  the  Martinmas  ma  mither  deed  .  .  . 
ye  'ill  no  leave  withoot  yir  tea." 

After  he  had  gone  to  tell  Leezbeth  of  his 
guest,  Marget  looked  round  the  room,  with  its 
worn  furniture,  its  bareness  and  its  comfortless- 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   REWARD         185 

ness.  This  was  all  he  had  to  come  to  on  a 
Friday  night  when  he  returned  from  market  ; 
out  and  in  here  he  would  go  till  he  died.  One 
touch  of  tenderness  there  was  in  the  room,  a 
portrait  of  his  mother  above  the  mantelpiece, 
and  Marget  rose  to  look  at  it,  for  she  had  known 
her,  a  woman  of  deep  and  silent  affection.  A 
letter  was  lying  open  below  the  picture,  and 
this  title,  printed  in  clear  type  at  the  head, 
caught  Marget's  eye : 

"  Macfarlane  and  Robertson,  Writers, 

Kilspindie  Buildings, 

Muirtown." 

Marget's  heart  suddenly  stood  still,  for  it 
was  the  firm  that  sent  the  seasonable  remit- 
tances from  Whinnie's  cousin.  This  cousin 
had  always  been  a  mystery  to  her,  for  Whinnie 
could  tell  little  about  him,  and  the  writers  re- 
fused all  information  whatever,  allowing  them 
to  suppose  that  he  was  in  America,  and  chose 
to  give  his  aid  without  communication.  It 
had  occurred  to  her  that  very  likely  he  was 
afraid  of  them  hanging  on  a  rich  relation,  and 
there  were  times  when  she  was  indignant  and 
could    not    feel  grateful    for    this    generosity. 


i86    DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE    STORY 

Other  times  she  had  longed  to  send  a  letter  in 
her  name  and  Whinnie's,  telling  him  how  his 
gifts  had  lightened  their  life  and  kept  them  in 
peace  and  honesty  at  Whinnie  Knowe  ;  but 
the  lawyers  had  discouraged  the  idea,  and  she 
had  feared  to  press  it. 

-  What  if  this  had  all  been  a  make-believe,  and 
there  had  been  no  cousin  .  .  .  and  it  had  been 
Drumsheugh  who  had  done  it  all.  .  .  .  Was 
this  the  object  of  all  his  sacrifice  ...  to  keep 
a  roof  above  their  heads  .  .  .  and  she  had 
heard  him  miscalled  for  a  miser  and  said  nothing 
.  .  .  how  could  she  look  him  in  the  face  .  .  . 
she  was  sure  of  it,  although  there  was  no  proof. 
...  A  grey  light  had  been  gathering  all  the 
afternoon  in  her  mind,  and  now  the  sun  had 
risen,  and  everything  was  light. 

Any  moment  he  might  come  in,  and  she 
must  know  for  certain ;  but  it  was  Leezbeth 
that  entered  to  lay  the  tea,  looking  harder  than 
ever,  and  evidently  seeing  no  call  for  this  out- 
break of  hospitality. 

"  The  maister  's  gaen  upstairs  tae  clean  him- 
sel,"  said  the  housekeeper,  with  a  suggestion  of 
contempt.  "  A'  saw  naethin'  wrang  wi'  him 
masel."     But  Leezbeth  was  not  one  that  could 


DRUMSHEUGH'S   REWARD  187 

move  Marget  to  anger  at  any  time,  and  now  she 
was  waiting  for  the  sight  of  Drumsheugh's  face. 

He  came  in  twenty  years  younger  than  she 
had  seen  him  in  that  dreary  field,  and,  speaking 
to  her  as  if  she  had  been  the  Countess  of  Kil- 
spindie,  asked  her  to  pour  out  the  tea. 

"  Drumsheugh,"  and  he  started  at  the  note  of 
earnestness,  "  before  a'  sit  doon  at  yir  table 
there  's  ae  question  a'  have  tae  ask  an'  ye  maun 
answer.  Ye  may  think  me  a  forAvard  wumman, 
an'  ma  question  may  seem  like  madness,  but 
it 's  come  intae  ma  mind,  an  a  '11  hae  nae  rest 
till  it 's  settled." 

Marget's  courage  was  near  the  failing,  for  it 
struck  her  how  little  she  had  to  go  on,  and  how 
wild  was  her  idea  ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  retreat, 
and  she  also  saw  the  terror  on  his  face. 

Drumsheugh  stood  silent,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
her  face,  and  his  hand  tightened  on  the  back  of 
a  chair. 

"  Is  't  you — are  ye  the  freend  'at  hes  helped 
ma  man  an'  me  through  a'  oor  tribbles  ?" 

Had  he  been  prepared  for  the  ordeal,  or  had 
she  opened  with  a  preface,  he  would  have  es- 
caped somehow,  but  all  his  wiles  were  vain  be- 
fore Marget's  eyes. 


i88     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE    STORY 

"  Ye  were  wi'  William  Maclure,"  and  Drums- 
heugh's  voice  quivered  with  passion,  "  an'  he 
telt  ye.  A  '11  never  forgie  him,  no,  never,  nor 
speak  ae  word  tae  him  again,  though  he  be  ma 
dearest  freend." 

"  Dinna  blame  Doctor  Maclure,  for  a'  he  did 
wes  in  faithfulness  an'  luve,"  and  Marget  told 
him  how  she  had  made  her  discovery ;  "  but 
why  sud  ye  be  angry  that  the  fouk  ye  blessed 
at  a  sair  cost  can  thank  ye  face  tae  face  ?" 

Marget  caught  something  about  "  a  pund  or 
twa,"  but  it  was  not  easy  to  hear,  for  Drums- 
heugh  had  gone  over  to  the  fireplace  and 
turned  away  his  face. 

"  Mony  punds  ;  but  that 's  the  least  o  't ;  it 's 
what  ye  suffered  for  them  a'  thae  years  o'  sav- 
in', and  what  ye  did  wi'  them,  a  'm  rememberin'. 
Weelum  micht  never  hev  hed  a  hoose  for  me, 
an'  a'  micht  never  hev  hed  ma  man,  an'  he  micht 
gaen  oot  o'  Whinnie  Knowe  and  been  broken- 
herted  this  day  hed  it  no  been  for  you. 

"  Sic  kindness  as  this  lies  never  been  kent  in 
the  Glen,  an'  yet  we  're  nae  blude  tae  you,  no 
mair  than  onybody  in  the  pairish.  Ye  'ill  lat  me 
thank  ye  for  ma  man  an'  Geordie  an'  masel, an' 
ye  'ill  tell  me  hoo  ye  ever  thocht  o'  showin'  us 


DRUMSHEUGH'S    REWARD  189 

sic  favour."  Marget  moved  over  to  Drums- 
heugh  and  laid  her  hand  on  him  in  entreaty. 
He  Hfted  his  head  and  looked  her  in  the 
face. 

"  Marget  !"  and  then  she  understood.  He 
saw  the  red  flow  all  over  her  face  and  fade  away 
again,  and  the  tears  fill  her  eyes  and  run  down 
her  cheeks,  before  she  looked  at  him  steadily, 
and  spoke  in  a  low  voice  that  was  very  sweet. 

"A'  never  dreamed  o'  this,  an'  a 'm  not 
worthy  o'  sic  luve,  whereof  I  hev  hed  much 
fruit  an'  ye  hev  only  pain." 

"Ye're  wrang,  Marget,  for  the  joy  hes  gien 
ower  the  pain,  an'  a 've  hed  the  greater  gain. 
Luve  roosed  me  tae  wark  an'  fecht,  wha  micht 
hae  been  a  ne'er-dae-weel.  Luve  savit  me  frae 
greed  o'  siller  an'  a  hard  hert.  Luve  kept  me 
clean  in  thocht  an'  deed,  for  it  was  ever  Marget 
by  nicht  an'  day.  If  a  'm  a  man  the  day,  ye 
did  it,  though  ye  micht  never  hae  kent  it.  It 's 
little  a'  did  for  ye,  but  ye  've  dune  a' thing  for 
me  .  .  .  Marget." 

After  a  moment  he  went  on  : 

"  Twenty  year  ago  a'  cudna  hae  spoken  wi* 
ye  safely,  nor  taken  yir  man  's  hand  withoot  a 
grudge :    but   there 's   nae  sin  in  ma  luve  this 


ipo     DRUMSHEUGH'S   LOVE   STORY 

day,  and  a'  wudna  be  ashamed  though  yir  man 
heard  me  say,  "  A'  hive  ye,  Marget.'  " 

He  took  her  hand  and  made  as  though  he 
would  have  hftcd  it  to  his  Hps,  but  as  he  bent 
she  kissed  him  on  the  forehead.  "This,"  she 
said,  "  for  yir  great  and  faithfu'  kive." 

They  talked  of  many  things  at  tea,  with  joy 
running  over  Drumsheugh's  heart  ;  and  then 
spoke  of  Geordie  all  the  way  across  the  moor, 
on  which  the  moon  was  shining.  They  parted 
at  the  edge,  where  Marget  could  see  the  lights 
of  home,  and  Drumsheugh  caught  the  sorrow 
of  her  face,  for  him  that  had  to  go  back  alone 
to  an  empty  house. 

"  Dinna  peety  me,  Marget ;  a  Ve  hed  ma  re- 
ward, an'  a 'm  mair  than  content." 

On  reaching  home,  he  opened  the  family 
Bible  at  a  place  that  was  marked,  and  this  was 
what  he  read  to  himself :  "  They  which  shall 
be  accounted  worthy  .  .  .  neither  marry  nor 
are  given  in  marriage  .  .  .  but  are  as  the  angels 
of  God  in  heaven." 


PAST    REDEMPTION 


PAST    REDEMPTION 

We  had  called  him  Posty  so  long  that  Jamie 
Soutar  declared  our  postman  had  forgotten  the 
sound  of  his  own  name,  and  had  once  refused  a 
letter  addressed  to  himself.  This  was  merely 
Jamie's  humour,  for  Posty  held  his  legal  desig- 
nation in  jealous  remembrance,  and  used  it  for 
the  confusion  of  pride  with  much  effect. 

When  Milton,  in  whom  Pharisaism  had 
reached  the  point  of  genius,  dealt  faithfully 
with  Posty  at  New  Year  time  on  his  personal 
habits,  and  explained  that  he  could  not  give 
him  money  lest  he  should  waste  it  in  strong 
drink — offering  him  instead  a  small  volume  of 
an  improving  character — Posty  fell  back  on  his 
reserves. 

"  Ma  name,"  he  said,  eyeing  Milton  sternly, 
and  giving  each  syllable  its  just  weight,  "  is 
Aircheebald  MacKittrick  ;  an'  gin  ye  hae  ony 
complaint  against   me   for  neglect  o'  duty,  ye 


194  PAST    REDEMPTION 

can  lodge  it  wi'  the  Postmaister-General,  speeci- 
fyin'  parteeclars,  sic  as  late  arrival  or  omittin' 
tae  deliver,  an'  a  '11  hae  the  sateesfaction  o' 
cairryin'  yer  letter  pairt  o'  the  way  tae  its  des- 
teenation. 

"  A  've  ma  public  capaucity  as  an  officer  of 
the  Crown" — Posty  was  now  master  of  the 
situation  and  grew  more  awful  every  moment — 
"  an'  there  a  'm  open  tae  creeticism.  In  ma 
private  capaucity  as  a  free-born  Scot,  the  Queen 
hersel'  has  nae  business  tae  interfere  wi'  me. 
Whether  a'  prefer  speerits  or  limejuice  for  ma 
tastin'  " — Milton  had  once  deceived  Posty  with 
the  latter  seductive  fluid — "  whether  a'  mairry 
ae  wife  or  three" — Milton's  third  nuptials  were 
still  fresh  in  the  Glen — "  is  a  maitter  for  a  man's 
ain  deceesion. 

"  As  regairds  the  bookie,"  and  Posty  held  its 
cheap  covers  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger, 
"  ye 'ill  excuse  me.  Jamie  Soutar  gied  me  a 
lend  o'  his  French  Revolution,  an'  a  'm  juist 
warstlin'  thro*  wi 't.  A  hev  'na  muckle  time  for 
readin',  an'  Tammas  Carlyle  's  a  stiff  body,  but 
his  bulks  are  graund  feedin'.  Besides" — and 
now  Posty  gave  the  coup  de  grace — **  thae  re- 
leegious  bookies  hae  nae  logic  for  an  able-bodied 


PAST   REDEMPTION  195 

man,  an'  the  laist  ane  ye  gied  me  was  louse  in 
doctrine,  juist  stinkin'  wi'  Armeenianism." 

Posty  was  understood  to  hold  an  impregna- 
ble position  with  the  head  of  his  department, 
and  it  was  boasted  in  the  Glen  that  he  had  car- 
ried the  mails  from  Drumtochty  to  Pitscourie 
— thirteen  miles — and  back,  every  day,  exclud- 
ing Sabbaths,  for  eight-and-twenty  years.  It 
was  also  believed  that  he  had  only  been  late 
twice,  when  the  Scourie  burn  carried  away  the 
bridge,  and  Posty  had  to  go  four  miles  up 
stream  to  find  a  crossing-place,  and  the  day 
when  he  struck  his  head  against  a  stone,  nego- 
tiating a  drift,  and  lay  insensible  for  three  hours. 

At  five  o'clock  to  a  minute  Posty  appeared 
every  morning  in  the  village  shop,  which  had 
accumulated  during  the  night  a  blended  frag- 
rance of  tea  and  sugar,  and  candles  and  Mac- 
dougall's  sheep  dip,  and  where  Mrs.  Robb,  our 
postmistress,  received  Posty  in  a  negligent  un- 
dress  sanctioned  by  ofificial  business  and  a  spot- 
less widowhood. 

"  That 's  frae  the  shooting  lodge  tae  his 
Lordship.  It  'ill  be  aboot  the  white  hares ;" 
and  Mrs.  Robb  begain  to  review  the  letters 
with    unfailing   accuracy.     "Ye    can    aye    ken 


196  PAST   REDEMPTION 

Drumsheugh's  hand  ;  he 's  after  some  siller 
frae  Piggie  Walker.  Piggie  trickit  him  aince  ; 
he 'ill  no  dae 't  again.  'Miss  Howieson.'  Ma 
word  !  Jean  's  no  blate  tae  pit  that  afore  her 
lassie's  name,  and  her  a  servant-lass,  tho'  a  'm 
no  sayin'  'at  she  disna  deserve  it,  sendin'  her 
mother  a  post-office  order  the  beginnin'  o'  ilka 
month,  riglar.  '  The  Worshipful  Chief  Bum- 
mer of  the  Sons  of  Temperance  Reform.' 
Michty,  what  a  title !  That 's  what  they  ca' 
that  haverin'  body  frae  the  sooth  Archie  Mon- 
cur  hod  up  lecturin'  laist  winter  on  teetotalism. 
Ye  were  terribly  affeckit  yersel,  Posty,  a'  heard" 
— to  which  sally  the  immovable  face  gave  no 
sign.  "  And  here  's  ane  tae  auld  Maister  Yel- 
lowlees,  o'  Kildrummie,  askin'  him  tae  the  fast 
a 'm  jalousin'.  Sail,  the  Free  Kirk  fouk  'ill  no 
bless  their  minister  for  his  choice.  Divye  mind 
the  diveesions  o'  his  laist  sermon  here  on  the 
sparrows,  Posty?" 

"  '  We  shall  consider  at  length'  " — the  voice 
seemed  to  proceed  from  a  graven  image — "  '  the 
natural  history  of  the  sparrow ;  next  we  shall 
compare  the  value  of  sparrow  in  ancient  and 
modern  times  ;  and  lastly,  we  shall  apply  the 


PAST   REDEMPTION  197 

foregoing  truth  to  the  spiritual  condition  of 
two  classes.'  " 

"That"s  it  tae  a  word.  It  was  michty,  an' 
Donald  Menzies  threipit  that  he  heard  the  deil 
lauchin'  in  the  kirk.  Weel,  that 's  a',  Posty,  an' 
an  Advertiser  frae  Burnbrae  tae  his  son  in  the 
Black  Watch.  He  'ill  be  hame  sune  juist  cov- 
ered wi'  medals.  A'  doot  there 's  been  mair 
snow  thro'  the  nicht.  It  'ill  be  heavy  traivel- 
Hn'.  " 

The  light  of  the  oil-lamp  fell  on  Posty  as  he 
buckled  his  bag,  and  threw  his  figure  into  relief 
against  a  background  of  boxes  and  barrels. 

A  tall  man  even  for  Drumtochty,  standing 
six  feet  three  in  his  boots,  who,  being  only  a 
walking  skeleton,  ought  to  have  weighed  some 
twelve  stone,  but  with  the  bone  and  breadth  of 
him  turned  the  scale  at  fifteen.  His  hair  was  a 
fiery  red,  and  his  bare,  hard-featured  face  two 
shades  darker.  No  one  had  ever  caught  a 
trace  of  the  inner  man  on  Posty's  face,  save 
once  and  for  an  instant — when  he  jumped  into 
Kelpie's  hole  to  save  a  wee  lassie.  Elspeth 
Macfadyen  said  afterwards  "  his  eyes  were 
graund."     He  wore   the  regulation   cap  on  the 


198  PAST   REDEMPTION 

back  of  his  head,  and  as  no  post-office  jacket 
was  big  enough  to  meet  on  Posty's  chest,  he 
looped  it  with  string  over  a  knitted  waistcoat. 
One  winter  he  amazed  the  Glen  by  appearing 
in  a  waterproof  cape,  which  a  humanitarian  of- 
ficial had  provided  for  country  postmen,  but  re- 
turned after  a  week  to  his  former  estate,  de- 
claring that  such  luxuries  were  unhealthy  and 
certain  to  undermine  the  constitution.  His 
watch  was  the  size  of  a  small  turnip,  and  gave 
the  authorised  time  to  the  district,  although 
Posty  was  always  denouncing  it  for  a  tendency 
to  lose  a  minute  in  the  course  of  summer,  an 
irregularity  he  used  to  trace  back  to  a  thunder- 
storm in  his  grandfather's  time.  His  equip- 
ment was  completed  by  an  oaken  stick,  which 
the  smith  shod  afresh  every  third  year,  and 
which  Posty  would  suddenly  swing  over  his 
head  as  he  went  along.  It  was  supposed  that 
at  these  times  he  had  settled  a  point  of  doc- 
trine. 

Mrs.  Robb  started  him  with  a  score  of  letters, 
and  the  rest  he  gathered  as  he  went.  The  up- 
per Glen  had  a  box  with  a  lock,  at  the  cross 
roads,  and  the  theory  was  that  each  farm  had 
one  key  and  Posty  his  own.     Every  key  except 


PAST   REDEMPTION  199 

Posty's  had  been  lost  long  ago,  and  the  box 
stood  open  to  the  light,  but  Posty  always 
made  a  vain  attempt  to  sneck  the  door,  and 
solemnly  dropped  the  letters  through  the  slit. 
Some  farms  had  hidie  holes  in  the  dyke,  which 
Posty  could  find  in  the  darkest  morning;  and 
Hillocks,  through  sheer  force  of  custom,  de- 
posited his  correspondence,  as  his  father  had 
done  before  him,  at  the  root  of  an  ancient 
beech.  Persons  handing  Posty  letters  consid- 
ered it  polite  to  hint  at  their  contents,  and  any 
information  about  our  exiles  was  considered 
Posty's  due.  He  was  hardly  ever  known  to 
make  any  remark,  and  a  stranger  would  have 
said  that  he  did  not  hear,  but  it  was  noticed 
that  he  carried  the  letters  to  Whinnie  Knowe 
himself  during  George's  illness,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  he  was  quite  excited  the  day  he 
brought  the  tidings  of  Professor  Ross's  recovery. 
He  only  became  really  fluent  after  he  had 
been  tasting,  for  which  facilities  were  provided 
at  five  points  on  his  route,  and  then  he  gave 
himself  to  theology,  in  which,  from  a  technical 
point  of  view,  he  could  hold  his  own  with  any 
man  in  the  Glen  except  Lachlan  Campbell  and 
Jamie    Soutar.     As   he  could    not  always  find 


200  PAST   REDEMPTION 

another  theologian  when  he  was  in  this  mood 
he  used  to  walk  the  faster  as  a  relief  to  his  feel- 
ings, and  then  rest  quietly  by  the  roadside  for 
half  an  hour,  wrapt  in  meditation.  You  might 
have  set  your  watch  by  his  rising  when  he 
went  on  his  way  like  a  man  whose  mind  was 
now  at  ease. 

His  face  was  so  unconscious  and  unsuspi- 
cious during  these  brief  retreats  that  it  arrested 
a  well-doing  tramp  one  day  and  exposed  him 
to  misconstruction.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  he 
explained  afterwards  to  our  policeman,  that 
Posty  might  have  fainted,  and  he  felt  it  his 
duty  to  take  charge  of  the  mail-bag,  which  its 
guardian  utilised  to  fill  up  the  hollow  of  his 
back.  Very  gently  did  the  tramp  loosen  the 
strap  and  extricate  the  bag.  He  was  rising 
from  his  knees  when  a  big  red  hand  gripped 
his  arm,  and  Posty  regarded  the  tree  above  his 
head  with  profound  interest. 

"  A  'm  obleeged  tae  ye,"  a  voice  began,  "  for 
yir  thochtfu'  attention,  an'  the  care  ye  took  no 
tae  disturb  me.  Ye  'ill  be  a  resident  in  the 
Glen,  a  'm  coontin',  an'  wantin'  yir  letters,"  and 
Posty  rose  with,  great  deliberation  and  re- 
fastened  the  strap. 


PAST    REDEMPTION  201 

"  A'  canna  mind  }'ir  face  for  the  moment, 
but  maybe  ye  're  veesitin'  yir  freends.  Dinna 
gang  awa  till  a'  find  yir  letter ;  it  micht  hae 
money  in  't,  an'  it 's  plain  ye  're  needin'  't. 

"  Surely  ye  didna  mean  tae  assault  a  puir 
helpless  cratur,"  continued  Posty,  picking  up 
his  stick  and  laying  hold  of  the  tramp  by  his 
rags,  "an'  rob  him  o'  Her  Majesty's  mails? 
Div  ye  ken  that  wud  be  highway  robbery  wi' 
aggravations,  and,  man,  ye  micht  be  hanged 
and  quartered. 

"  Ye  wud  never  misconduct  yirsel  like  that, 
but  some  o'  yir  freends  micht,  an'  a'  Avud  like 
tae  send  them  a  bit  message.  .  .  .  Lord's  sake, 
dinna  yowl  like  that,  or  the  neeburs  'ill  think 
a  'm  hurtin'  }-e." 

Two  hours  later  the  tramp  was  found  behind 
a  hedge  anointing  his  sores  with  butter,  and 
using  language  which  Posty,  as  a  religious  man, 
would  have  heard  with  profound  regret. 

When  this  incident  came  to  Doctor  David- 
son's ears,  he  took  a  strong  view,  and  spoke 
with  such  frankness  and  with  such  a  wealth  of 
family  illustration,  that  Posty  was  much  edified 
and  grew  eloquent. 

"  Say  awa,  doctor,  for  it 's  a'  true,  an'  ye  're 


202  PAST    REDEMPTION 

daein'  yir  duty  as  a  minister  faithfu'  an'  weel. 
A  'm  greatly  obleeged  tae  ye,  an'  a  '11  no  forget 
yir  warnin'.     Na,  na,  it  'ill  sink. 

"Ye 'ill  no  be  angry,  though,  or  think  me 
liteegious  gin  a'  pint  oot  a  difference  atween 
me  an'  ma  brither  that  ye  was  neeburin'  wi'  me 
in  the  maitter  o'  tastin'. 

"  A  'ill  no  deny  that  a'  tak  ma  mornin',  and 
maybe  a  forenoon,  wi'  a  drap  down  at  Pits- 
coourie  after  ma  dinner,  and  juist  a  moothfu' 
at  Luckie  Macpherson's  comin'  thro'  Neth- 
eraird,  and  a  body  needs  something  afore  he 
gaes  tac  bed,  but  that 's  ma  ordinar'  leemit. 

"  Noo,  Jock  is  juist  in  an'  oot  drammin'  frae 
mornin'  tae  nicht,  baith  in  Drumtochty  an' 
Muirtown,  and  that  's  bad  for  the  constitution, 
tae  sae  naethin'  o'  morals. 

"  Forbye  that,  doctor,  if  Jock  crosses  the 
line,  he  gets  veecious  ower  politics  or  the  cate- 
chism, an'  he  '11  fecht  like  a  gude  ane  ;  but  gin 
a  'm  juist  a  wee  overcom' — a  've  never  been 
intoxicat'  like  thae  puir,  regairdless,  toon 
waufies — a'  sit  doon  for  half-an'-oor  hummilled 
an'  reflect  on  the  dispensations  o'  Providence." 

Posty  had,  in  fact,  three  moods  :  the  posi- 
tive, when  he  was  a  man   of  few  words  ;  the 


PAST   REDEMPTION  203 

comparative,  when  he  was  cheerful  and  gave 
himself  to  the  discussion  of  doctrine  ;  and  the 
superlative,  when  he  had  been  tasting  freely 
and  retired   for  meditation. 

As  the  years  passed,  and  Posty  established 
himself  in  all  hearts,  the  philanthropy  of  the 
Glen  came  to  a  focus  on  his  redemption,  to 
Posty's  inward  delight,  and  with  results  still 
fondly  remembered. 

Cunningham,  the  Free  Church  scholar  and 
shyest  of  men,  gave  his  mind  to  Posty  in  the 
intervals  of  editing  Sophocles,  and  after  plan- 
ning the  campaign  for  four  months,  allured  that 
worthy  into  his  study,  and  began  operations 
with  much  tact. 

"  Sit  down,  Posty,  sit  down,  I  'm  very  glad  to 
see  you,  and  ...  I  wanted  to  thank  you  for 
your  attention  .  .  .  every  one  in  the  Glen  must 
be  satisfied  with  .  .  .  with  your  sense  of  offi- 
cial duty." 

"  Thank  ye,  sir,"  said  Posty,  in  his  dryest 
voice,  anticipating  exactly  what  Cunningham 
was  after,  and  fixing  that  unhappy  man  with  a 
stony  stare  that  brought  the  perspiration  to  his 
forehead. 

"  There  is  one  thing,  however,  that  I  wanted 


204  PAST    REDEMPTION 

to  say  to  you,  and,  Posty,  you  will  understand 
that  it  is  a  ...  little  difficult  to  ...  in  fact 
to  mention,"  and  Cunningham  fumbled  with 
some  Greek  proofs, 

"  What 's  yir  wull,  sir?"  inquired  Posty,  keep- 
ing Cunningham  under  his  relentless  eye. 

"  Well,  it 's  simply,"  and  then  Cunningham 
detected  a  new  flavour  in  the  atmosphere,  and 
concluded  that  Posty  had  been  given  into  his 
hands,  "  that  .  .  .  there  's  a  very  strong  smell 
of  spirits  in  the  room." 

"  A'  noticed  that  masel',  sir,  the  meenut  a' 
cam  in,  but  a'  didna  like  to  say  onything  aboot 
it,"  and  Posty  regarded  Cunningham  with  an 
expression  of  sympathetic  toleration. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  and  Cunningham 
was  much  agitated,  "  that  you  think  .  .  ." 

"  Dinna  pit  yirsel'  aboot,  sir,"  said  Posty,  in 
a  consoling  voice,  "  or  suppose  a'  wud  say  a 
word  ootside  this  room.  Na,  na,  there  's  times 
a  ^m  the  better  o' a  gless  masel',  an'  it's  no 
possible  ye  cud  trachle  through  the  Greek  with- 
oot  a  bit  tonic;  but  ye 're  safe  wi'  me,"  said 
Posty,  departing  at  the  right  moment,  and  he 
kept  his  word.  But  Cunningham  was  so  scan- 
dalised that  he  let  out  the  conversation,  and 


PAST    REDEMPTION  205 

the  Glen  was  liappy  for  a  month  over  it,  for 
tliey  loved  both  men,  each  in  his  own  way. 

When  Jock  MacKittrick  died  suddenly 
Cunningham  expressed  his  sympathy  with 
Posty,  and  produced  an  unexpected  impression 
on  that  self-contained  man. 

"  It  was  only  last  evening  that  I  saw  you  and 
your  brother  part  in  the  village  ;  it  must  be  a 
terrible  blow  to  you." 

"  Ye  saw  that  ?"  broke  in  Posty ;  "  then  ye  're 
the  only  man  in  the  Glen  that  kens  what  a 
sore  heart  a 'm  cairryin' the  day.  Juist  ablow 
the  public  hoose,  and  he  gaed  up  and  a'  gaed 
hame  ;    it 's  a  fact. 

"The  fouk  are  sayin'  the  day  as  a'  cam  alang 
the  Glen,  'Ye 'ill  miss  Jock,  Posty,  he  slippit 
aff  afore  his  time.'  An'  a  juist  gie  them  an, 
'  Ou,  aye,  it  maks  a  difference,'  but  they  dinna 
ken  ma  secret ;   hooever  did  ye  licht  on  it  ? 

"  There  's  nae  use  denyin'  't  that  he  said  tae 
me,  'Ye 'ill  tak  yir  evenin',  Posty,'  for  Jock  aye 
ca'd  me  that — he  was  prood  o  't  bein'  in  the 
faimily — an'  gin  ye  ask  me  what  cam  ower  me 
that  a'  sud  hae  refused  him  a'  canna  tell. 

"  '  Na,  na,  Jock,'  a' said,  '  a 've  hed  eneuch 
the    day,  an'    a'm   gaein'  hame:'  he  lookit  at 


2o6  PAST   REDEMPTION 

me,  but  a'  wes  dour,  an'  noo  it 's  ower  late ; 
a '11  never  taste  wi'  Jock  again."  And  Posty's 
iron  manner  failed,  and  for  once  in  his  life  he 
was  profoundly  affected. 

The  last  philanthropist  who  tried  his  hand 
on  Posty  before  he  died  was  "  the  Colonel  "  as 
we  called  him — that  fine  hearty  old  warrior 
who  stayed  with  the  Carnegies  at  the  Lodge, 
and  had  come  to  grief  over  Jamie  Soutar  at  the 
evangelistic  meeting.  The  Colonel  was  certain 
that  he  could  manage  Posty,  for  he  was  great 
at  what  he  called  "  button-holing,"  and  so  he 
had  his  second  disaster,  understanding  neither 
Drumtochty  nor  Posty.  Being  full  of  the 
simplest  guile  he  joined  Posty  on  the  road  and 
spun  the  most  delightful  Indian  yarns,  which 
were  all  intended  to  show  what  splendid  fel- 
lows his  soldiers  were,  and  how  they  ruined 
themselves  with  drink.  Posty  gave  most 
patient  attention  and  only  broke  silence 
twice. 

"  Drinkin' — if  ye  are  meanin'  intoxication — 
is  waur  than  a  failin',  it 's  a  sin  an'  no  a  licht 
ane.  Ye  ken  whar  the  drunkards  gang  tae  in 
the  end,  but  dinna  let  me  interrupt  ye." 

Later  he  inquired  anxiously  where  the  Colon- 


PAST   REDEMPTION  207 

el's    regiment    had    been     recruited,    and    was 
much  reheved  by  the  answer. 

"  A'  wes  thinkin'  they  cudna  be  oor  lads  that 
lat  the  drink  get  the  upper  hand  ;  they  sud  be 
able  tae  tak  their  drappie  cannily  an'  no  mak 
fules  o'  themselves,  but  a  've  heard  that  a  gless 
or  twa  o'  speerits  'ill  turn  their  heads  in  the 
sooth." 

When  the  Colonel,  considerably  damped  by 
these  preliminaries,  came  to  close  grips,  Posty 
took  a  stand. 

"  '  Pledge  '  did  ye  say,  Colonel  ;  na,  na,  a' 
daurna  hae  onything  tae  dae  wi'  sic  devices, 
they're  naething  else  than  vows,  an'  vows  are 
aboleeshed  in  this  dispensation.  The  Catholics 
keep  them  up  a  'm  informed,  but  a  'm  a  Protes- 
tant, an'  ma  conscience  wudna  alloo  me  tae 
sign. 

"  But  a  'm  terribly  pleased  wi'  yir  stosies,  sir, 
an'  they  gar  the  time  pass  fine,  an'  ye  maunna 
be  offended.  Gin  ye  cud  meet  me  the  morn  at 
the  boonds  o'  the  pairish,  a  'm  willin'  tae  argie 
the  maitter  o'  vows  up  the  Glen  juist  tae  shairp- 
en  oor  minds. 

"  As  for  the  bit  ribbon,"  and  Posty  held  it  as 
if  it  carried  infection,  "  gin  ye  hed  belanged  tae 


2o8  PAST   REDEMPTION 

Drumtochty  ye  wud  hae  kent  nae  man  cud 
wear  sic  a  thing.  Oor  fouk  hae  an'  awfu'  sense 
o'  humour ;  it 's  sae  deep  they  canna  lauch,  but 
they  wud  juist  look  at  the  man  wi'  a  ribbon  on, 
an'  as  sure  's  deith  they  wudna  be  weel  for  the 
rest  o'  the  day. 

"  Besides,  Colonel,  a  'm  suspeckin'  that 
there 's  juist  ae  preceedent  for  the  ribbon  in 
the  Bible,  that  wes  the  Pharisees,  when  they 
made  broad  their  phylacteries,  and  a'  ne  'er  likit 
thae  gentry." 

"  Sail  gin  ilka  man  began  tae  pit  his  virtues 
on  his  coat,  an'  did  it  honest,  it  wud  be  a  show 
at  kirk  and  market.  Milton  wud  hae  naethin' 
but  yir  ribbon,  an'  Burnbrae,  wha  's  the  best 
man  in  the  Glen,  wudna  hae  room  on  his  Sab- 
bath coat  for  his  decorations,"  and  Posty 
chuckled  inwardly  to  the  horror  of  the  Colonel. 

Three  days  afterwards  the  great  tragedy  hap- 
pened, and  no  one  needed  again  to  trouble 
himself  about  Posty.  It  was  summer  time, 
with  thunder  in  the  air,  and  heavy  black  clouds 
above  Glen  Urtach.  June  was  the  month  in 
which  Mrs.  Macfadyen  scoured  her  blankets, 
and  as  her  burn  was  nearly  dry,  she  transferred 
her  apparatus  to  the  bank  of  the  Tochty,  where 


PAST   REDEMPTION  209 

a  pool  below  the  mill  gave  her  a  sure  supply  of 
water.  Elspeth  lit  a  fire  beneath  the  birches 
on  the  bank,  and  boiled  the  water.  She  plung- 
ed the  blankets  into  a  huge  tub,  and  kilting  up 
her  coats  danced  therein  powerfully,  with  many 
a  direction  to  Elsie,  her  seven-year-old,  to  "  see 
ye  dinna  fa'  in,  or  ye  '11  be  carried  intae  the 
Kelpie's  Hole  ablow,  an'  it  '11  no  be  yir  mither 
can  bring  you  oot." 

The  sun  was  still  shining  brightly  on  the 
Glen,  when  the  distant  storm  burst  on  Ben 
Hornish,  whose  steep  sides  drain  into  the 
Urtach,  that  ends  in  the  Tochty.  Down  the 
Tochty  came  the  first  wave,  three  feet  high, 
bringing  on  its  foaming  yeasty  waters  branches 
of  trees,  two  young  lambs,  a  stool  from  some 
cottage  door,  a  shepherd's  plaid,  and  all  kinds 
of  drift  from  eddies  that  had  been  swept  clean. 
Elspeth  heard  the  roar,  and  lifted  her  eyes  to 
see  Elsie,  who  had  been  playing  too  near  the 
edge,  swept  away  into  the  pool  beneath,  that 
in  less  than  a  minute  was  a  seething  cauldron  of 
water  that  w^hirled  round  and  round  against  the 
rocks  before  it  rushed  down  the  bed  of  the  river. 

"  Ma  bairn  !  ma  bairn  !  God  hae  mercy  upon 
her!  "  and  Elspeth's  cry  ran  through  the  bonnie 


2IO  PAST   REDEMPTION 

birk  wood  and  rose  through  the  smiling  sky  to 
a  God  that  seemed  to  give  no  heed. 

"  Whar  is  she  ?  "  was  all  Posty  asked,  tearing 
off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  for  he  had  heard  the 
cry  as  he  was  going  to  the  mill,  and  took  the 
lade  at  a  leap  to  lose  no  time. 

"  Yonder,  Posty,  but  ye  .  .  ," 

He  was  already  in  the  depths,  while  the 
mother  hung  over  the  edge  of  the  merciless 
flood.  It  seemed  an  hour — it  was  not  actually 
a  minute — before  he  appeared,  with  the  blood 
pouring  from  a  gash  on  his  forehead,  and  hung 
for  a  few  seconds  on  a  rock  for  air. 

"  Come  oot,  Posty,  ye  hae  a  wife  and  bairns, 
an'  ye  '11  be  drooned  ;"  for  Elspeth  was  a  brave- 
hearted,  unselfish  woman. 

"  A '11  hae  Elsie  first,"  and  down  he  went 
again,  where  the  torrent  raged  against  the 
rocks. 

This  time  he  came  up  at  once,  with  Elsie,  a 
poor  little  bundle,  in  his  arms. 

"  Tak'  her  quick,"  he  gasped,  clinging  with 
one  hand  to  a  jagged  point. 

And  Elspeth  had  no  sooner  gripped  Elsie  by 
her  frock  than  Posty  flung  up  his  arms,  and 
was  whirled  down  the  river,  now  running  like  a 


PAST   REDEMPTION  211 

mill-race,  and  Elspeth  fancied  she  saw  him  turn- 
ing over  and  ov'er,  for  he  seemed  to  be  insen- 
sible. 

Within  an  hour  they  found  his  body  down 
below  the  Lodge  with  many  wounds  on  it,  be- 
sides that  gash,  and  they  knew  at  once  that  he 
had  been  dashed  to  death  against  the  stones. 

They  carried  him  to  the  Lodge — the  Colonel 
insisted  on  being  a  bearer — and  for  two  hours 
by  the  clock  they  did  their  best  for  Posty, 

"  It 's  no  a  drop  o'  water  'ill  droon  Posty," 
said  Jamie  Soutar,  "  and  that  his  ain  Tochty, 
an'  as  for  a  clout  (blow)  on  the  head,  what 's 
that  tae  a  man  like  Posty  !  he  '11  be  on  the  road 
the  mornin'."  But  Jamie  spoke  with  the  fierce 
assurance  of  a  man  that  fears  the  worst  and  is 
afraid  of  breaking  down. 

"  The  water  hes  been  ower  muckle  for  him 
aifter  a',''  our  cynic  said  to  Archie  Moncur, 
who  had  long  striven  to  make  a  teetotaller  of 
Posty,  as  they  went  home  together,  "  tho'  he 
didna  give  in  tae  the  end." 

"  A'  doot  a'  wes  a  wee  hard  on  him,  Jamie" 
— Archie  had  the  tenderest  heart  in  the  Glen 
and  was  much  loved — "  but  there  wes  nae  man 
a'  like 't  better." 


212  PAST   REDEMPTION 

"  Yer  tongue  wes  naithin'  tae  mine,  Airchie, 
when  h'  yoke  't  on  him,  but  he  bore  nae  ill  will, 
did  Posty,  he  had  an  awfu'  respeck  for  ye  an' 
aye  spoke  o'  ye  as  his  freend." 

"  Sae  a'  wes — wha  wudna  be — he  hed  a  true 
heart  hed  Posty,  and  nae  jukery-packery  (trick- 
ery) aboot  him." 

"  An'  a  graund  heid  tae,"  went  on  Jamie; 
"  there  wes  naebody  in  the  Glen  cud  meet  him 
in  theology,  except  maybe  Lachlan,  and  did  ye 
ever  hear  him  say  an  ill  word  aboot  ony 
body?  " 

"  Never,  Jamie,  an'  there  wes  naebody  he 
wesna  interested  in;  the  black-edged  letters 
aye  burned  his  fingers — he  hated  tae  deliver 
them.  He  wes  abody's  freend  wes  Posty," 
went  on  Archie,  "  an'  naebody's  enemy." 

"  He  deed  like  a  man,"  concluded  Jamie  ; 
"  there  's  juist  anither  consolation — the  lassie  's 
comin'  roond  fine." 

When  the  new  Free  Kirk  minister  was  set- 
tled in  Drumtochty,  Jamie  told  him  the  story 
on  the  road  one  day  and  put  him  to  the  test. 

"  What  think  ye,  sir,  becam'  o'  Posty  on  the 
ither  side?"  and  Jamie  fixed  his  eyes  on  Car- 
michael. 


PAST  REDEMPTION  213 

The  minister's  face  grew  still  whiter. 

"  Did  ye  ever  read  what  shall  be  done  to  any 
man  that  hurts  one  of  God's  bairns?  " 

"  Fine,"  answered  Jamie,  with  relish,  "  a 
millstane  aboot  his  neck,  an'  intae  the  depths 
o'  the  sea." 

"Then,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  must  be  well 
with  Posty,  who  went  into  the  depths  and 
brought  a  bairn  up  at  the  cost  of  his  life,"  and 
Carmichael  added  softly,  "  whose  angel  doth 
continually  behold  the  face  of  the  Father." 

"  Yir  hand,  sir,"  said  Jamie,  and  when  the 
great  heresy  trial  began  at  Muirtown,  Jamie 
prophesied  Carmichael's  triumphant  acquittal, 
declaring  him  a  theologian  of  the  first  order. 


GOOD    NEWS    FROM   A   FAR 
COUNTRY 


STATE  >!GK'1,M'::"'HCGL. 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

Narrow  circumstances  and  high  spirit  drove 
forth  some  half-dozen  young  men  and  women 
from  the  Glen  every  year,  to  earn  their  living 
in  the  cities  of  the  South.  They  carried  with 
them,  as  a  working  capital,  sound  education, 
unflagging  industry,  absolute  integrity,  and  an 
undying  attachment  to  Drumtochty.  Their 
one  necessary  luxury  was  a  weekly  copy  of  the 
Miiirtown  Advertiser,  which  four  servant  lasses 
would  share  between  them,  and  circulate  at 
church  doors,  carefully  wrapt  in  a  page  of 
some  common  daily,  and  their  one  hour  of  un^ 
mixed  enjoyment  its  careful  perusal,  column 
by  column,  from  the  first  word  to  the  last.  It 
would  have  been  foolishness  to  omit  the  adver- 
tisements, for  you  might  have  missed  the  name 
of  Drumsheugh  in  connection  with  a  sale  of 
stirks  ;  and  although  at  home  no  Drumtochty 
person  allowed  himself  to  take  an   interest   in 


2t8  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

the  affairs  of  Kildrummie  or  Netheraird,  yet 
the  very  names  of  neighbouring  parishes 
sounded  kindly  at  the  distance  of  Glasgow. 
One  paragraph  was  kept  for  the  last,  and  read 
from  six  to  twelve  times,  because  it  was 
headed  Drumtochty,  and  gave  an  account  of 
the  annual  ploughing  match,  or  the  school  ex- 
amination, or  the  flower  show,  or  a  winter  lec- 
ture, when  Jamie  Soutar  had  proposed  the 
vote  of  thanks.  Poor  little  news  and  names 
hard  of  pronunciation ;  but  the  girl  sitting 
alone  by  the  kitchen  fire — her  fellow  servants 
gone  to  bed — or  the  settler  in  the  far  North- 
west— for  he  also  got  his  Advertiser  after  long 
delays — felt  the  caller  air  blowing  down  the 
Glen,  and  saw  the  sun  shining  on  the  Tochty 
below  the  mill,  and  went  up  between  the  pinks 
and  moss-roses  to  the  dear  old  door — ah  me  ! 
the  click  of  the  garden  gate — and  heard  again 
the  sound  of  the  Hundredth  Psalm  in  the 
parish  kirk. 

If  one  wished  to  take  a  complete  census  of 
our  people  in  Glasgow,  he  had  only  to  attend 
when  Doctor  Davidson  preached  on  the  fast 
day,  and  make  his  way  afterwards  to  the  vestry 
door. 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  219 

"  There  's  a  gude  puckle  fouk  waitin'  tae  see 
ye,  sir,"  the  city  beadle  Avould  say  to  the  doc- 
tor, with  much  ceremony;  "  a 'm  judgin' 
they  're  frae  yir  ain  pairish.  Is  it  yir  wull  they 
be  admitted?  " 

Then  in  they  came,  craftsmen  in  stone  and 
iron,  clerks  in  offices  and  students  from  the 
University,  housemaids  and  working  men's 
wives,  without  distinction  of  persons,  having 
spent  the  last  ten  minutes  in  exchanging  ncAVS 
and  magnifying  the  sermon.  The  doctor  gave 
a  Christian  name  to  each,  and  some  personal 
message  from  the  Glen,  while  they,  in  turn,  did 
their  best  to  reduce  his  hand  to  pulp,  and  de- 
clared aloud  that  preaching  like  his  could  not 
be  got  outside  Drumtochty,  to  the  huge  delight 
of  Bigheart,  minister  of  the  church,  who  was 
also  a  Chaplain  to  the  Queen  and  all  Scotland. 

The  Dispersion  endured  any  sacrifice  to  visit 
the  old  Glen,  and  made  their  appearance  from 
various  places,  at  regular  intervals,  like  Jews 
coming  up  to  Jerusalem.  An  exile  was  careful 
to  arrive  at  INIuirtown  Station  on  a  Friday 
afternoon,  so  that  he  might  join  the  Drum- 
tochty contingent  on  their  way  home  from 
market.     It    is   not    to    be  supposed,  however, 


220  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

that  there  was  any  demonstration  when  he 
showed  himself  on  the  familiar  platform  where 
Drumtochty  men  compared  notes  with  other 
parishes  at  the  doors  of  the  Dunleith  train. 

"  Is  that  you,  Robert  ?  ye  'ill  be  gaein'  wast 
the  nicht,"  was  the  only  indication  Hillocks 
would  give  before  the  general  public  that  he 
had  recognised  young  Netherton  after  three 
years'  absence,  and  then  he  would  complete 
his  judgment  on  the  potato  crop  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

"  Ye  're  there,  aifter  a',  man  ;  a'  wes  feared 
the  sooth  train  micht  be  late,"  was  all  the  length 
even  Netherton's  paternal  feelings  would  carry 
him  for  the  time  ;  "  did  ye  see  that  yir  box  wes 
pit  in  the  van?"  and  the  father  and  son  might 
travel  in  different  compartments  to  the  Junction. 
Drumtochty  retained  still  some  reticence,  and 
did  not  conduct  its  emotions  in  public,  but  it 
had  a  heart.  When  the  van  of  the  Dunleith 
train  had  cleared  the  Junction  and  Drumtochty 
was  left  to  itself — for  Kildrummie  did  not 
really  count — it  was  as  when  winter  melts  into 
spring. 

"  Hoo  are  ye,  Robert,  hoo  are  ye?  gled  tae 
see  ye,"  Drumsheugh  would  say,  examining  the 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COrXTRY  221 

transformed  figure  from  head  to  foot ;  "  man, 
a'  wud  hardly  hae  kent  ye.  Come  awa  an'  gie  's 
yir  news,"  and  the  head  of  the  commonwealth 
led  the  way  to  our  third  with  Robert,  Drum- 
tochty  closing  in  behind. 

Preliminaries  were  disposed  of  in  the  run  to 
Kildrummie,  and  as  the  little  company  made 
their  way  through  the  pine  woods,  and  down 
one  side  of  the  Glen,  and  over  the  Tochty 
bridge,  and  up  the  other  slope  to  the  parting  of 
the  ways,  Robert  was  straitly  questioned  about 
the  magnitude  of  the  work  he  did  in  Glasgow, 
and  the  customs  of  the  people,  and  the  well- 
being  of  every  single  Drumtochty  person  in 
that  city,  and  chiefly  as  to  the  sermons  he  had 
heard,  their  texts  and  treatment.  On  Sabbath 
the  group  at  the  kirk  door  would  open  up  at 
Robert's  approach,  but  he  would  only  nod  in  a 
shamefaced  way  to  his  friends  and  pass  on  ;  for 
it  was  our  etiquette  that  instead  of  remaining 
to  gossip,  a  son  should  on  such  occasions  go  in 
with  his  mother  and  sit  beside  her  in  the  pew, 
who  on  her  part  would  mistake  the  psalm  that 
he  might  find  it  for  her,  and  pay  such  elaborate 
attention  to  the  sermon  that  every  one  knew 
she  was  thinking  only  of  her  son. 


222  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

If  a  Drumtochty  man  distinguished  himself 
in  the  great  world,  then  the  Glen  invested  his 
people  with  vicarious  honour,  and  gathered 
greedily  every  scrap  of  news.  Piggie  Walker 
himself,  although  only  an  associate  of  the  parish 
by  marriage  and  many  transactions,  would  not 
have  visited  David  Ross  in  the  Upper  Glen, 
with  a  view  to  potatoes,  without  inquiring  for 
David's  son  the  Professor;  and  after  the  sale 
was  effected  that  astute  man  would  settle  down 
with  genuine  delight  to  hear  the  last  letter, 
dated  from  a  Colonial  University  and  contain- 
ing an  account  of  the  Professor's  new  discov- 
ery. 

It  was  Piggie  that  asked  for  the  letter  ;  David 
would  not  have  offered  to  read  it  for  a  year's 
rent.  Drumtochty  parents  with  promising  sons 
lived  in  terror  lest  secret  pride  should  give  them 
away  and  they  be  accused  behind  their  backs 
of  "  blawing,"  which  in  a  weaker  speech  is 
translated  boasting. 

David  considered,  with  justice,  that  they 
ought  to  take  special  care,  and  tried  to  guide 
his  wife  with  discretion. 

"  We  maun  be  cannie  wi'  John's  title,  wum- 
man,  for  ye  ken  Professor  is  a  by-ordinar'  word  ; 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  323 

a'  coont  it  equal  tae  Earl  at  the  verra  least ;  an' 
it  wudna  dae  tae  be  aye  usin'  't. 

"Ye  micht  sa}''t  aince  in  a  conversation, 
juist  lettin'  it  slip  oot  by  accident  this  wy,  '  the 
Professor  wes  sayin'  in  his  laist  letter — a'  mean, 
oor  son  in  Australy' — but  a'  wud  ca'  him  John 
at  ither  times.  Pride 's  an  awfu'  mischief, 
Meg." 

"  Ye  're  as  prood  as  a  'm  masel,  David,  and 
there  's  nae  use  ye  scoldin'  at  me  for  giein'  oor 
laddie  the  honour  he  won  wi'  his  brain  an' 
wark,"  and  the  mother  flared  up.  ''  A  'm  no 
feared  what  the  neeburs  say.  Professor  he  is, 
an'  Professor  a  '11  ca'  him ;  ye  'ill  maybe  be 
sayin'  Jock  next,  tae  show  ye  're  humble." 

"  Dinna  tak  me  up  sae  shairp,  gude  wife,  or 
think  a'  wud  mak  little  o'  John  ;  but  the  Al- 
michty  hesna  gien  ilka  faimily  a  Professor,  an' 
a  'm  no  wantin'  tae  hurt  oor  neeburs,  an'  them 
sae  ta'en  up  wi'  him  themsels.  Ye  micht  read 
his  laist  letter  again,  wumman  ;  there 's  a  bit 
a  've  near  forgotten." 

Meg  went  to  the  drawers  where  she  kept  the 
clothes  he  wore  as  a  boy,  and  the  silk  dress  he 
gave  her  when  he  received  his  great  appoint- 
ment, and    the  copies  of   his   books  bound  in 


224  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

morocco,  which  he  sent  home  with  this  inscrip- 
tion : 

"  To  my  Father  and  Mother. 
"  From  the  Author;" 
and  every  scrap  of  paper  about   him   and   from 
him  she  had  ever  received. 

The  letter  is  taken  from  an  old  stocking,  and, 
as  she  pretends  to  some  difficulty  in  finding  the 
place,  Meg  is  obliged  to  read  it  for  the  forty- 
ninth  time  throughout  from  the  name  of  the 
University  at  the  head  to  the  signature  : 
"  Heart's  love  to  you  both  from 

"  Your  ever  affectionate  son, 

"John  Ross;" 

while  David  makes  as  though  he  had  missed  a 
word  now  and  again  in  order  to  prolong  the 
pleasure. 

It  was  not  hard  to  tell  that  he  had  such  a 
letter  in  his  pocket  on  the  Sabbath,  for  the 
kirkyard  was  very  cunning  in  its  sympathy. 

"  Hoo  's  the  Professor  keepin'  when  ye  heard 
laist,  Bogleigh  ?"  Drumsheugh  would  say,  skil- 
fully leading  up  to  the  one  subject,  and  careful 
to  give  David  his  territorial  designation,  al- 
though it  was  a  very  small  farm  indeed,  "he  'ill 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  225 

send   a  scrape  o'  the  pen  at  a  time,  a  'm   ex- 
peckin',  gin  he  hes  a  meenut  tae  spare." 

"  Busy  or  no  busy,"  answers  Bogleigh,  ''he 
maks  time  tae  write  hame.  His  mither  hes  hed 
a  letter  frae  John  aince  a  week  withoot  fail  sin 
he  left  Bogleigh  a  laddie  o'  saxteen  for  Edin- 
burgh. 

"  They  're  no  juist  twa  or  three  lines,  aither, 
but  sax  an'  aught  sheets,"  continued  David, 
warming.  "  An'  the  names,  they  cowe  a'thing 
for  length  an'  learnin'.  Wud  ye  believe  it,  the 
Professor  tells  his  mither  every  article  he  writes, 
and  a'  the  wark  he  dis. 

"  He  wes  tellin  's  laist  letter  aboot  some 
graund  discover}^  he  's  feenished,  an'  they  're 
threatenin'  tae  gie  him  a  new  title  for  't.  A  'm 
no  juist  sure  what  it  means,  but  it  disna  maitter, 
gin  the  laddie  dis  his  duty  and  keep  his  health," 
and  David  affected  to  close  the  subject.  "  It  's 
fell  warm  the  day." 

"  Ye  '11  no  hae  that  letter  on  ye.  Bogie  ?"  in- 
quired Jamie  Soutar  anxiously.  "  Gin  ye  cud 
pit  yir  hand  on  't,  the  neeburs  wud  like  tae  hear 
whatna  honour  the  Professor  's  gotten." 

"  Na,  na,  Jamie,  it  disna  dae  for  a  body  tae 
be  deavin'  (deafening")  the  countryside  wi'  clavers 


226  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

aboot  his  bairns ;  if  it  hedna  been  Drumsheugh 
speirin'  for  John  a'  wudna  hae  said  a  word,  but 
a  'm  muckle  obleeged,  and  sae  is  the  laddie,  for 
a'  mind  hoo  he  wrote,  '  My  respects  to  the 
neighbours  on  Sabbath.'  " 

"That  wes  rael  handsome,"  began  Whinnie, 
much  impressed  by  "  respects,"  "  but  a'  mind  the 
Professor  was  aye  a  douce " 

"  Div  ye  think,  Bogleigh,  that  the  Professor  be- 
longs tae  yersel  noo  an'  the  gude  wife,"  broke  in 
Jamie,  "  juist  as  if  he  were  some  ordinar'  man  ? 
Na,  na ;  gin  a  laddie  gaes  up  frae  the  Glen  tae 
the  University,  an'  comes  oot  at  the  tap  o'  his 
classes,  bringin'  hame  three  medals  ilka  spring, 
an'  opens  secret  things  in  nature  that  naebody 
kent  afore,  an'  is  selected  by  Government  tae 
foond  places  o'  learnin'  ayont  the  sea,  that 
laddie  belangs  tae  Drumtochty. 

"  Div  ye  mind  the  day  his  life  wes  in  the 
London  TYw.y.  and  Drumsheugh  read  it  at  the 
Junction  ?  '  This  eminent  man  of  science  was 
born  at  Drumtochty  in  Perthshire,  and  received 
his  early  education  at  the  parish  school.' " 

"Ye  hae 't  tae  a  word,  Jamie,"  said  Drums- 
heugh, and  passed  his  box,  in  name  of  the 
Glen,  as  it  were,  to  Domsie. 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  227 

"  Oor  standin'  measure,"  concluded  Jamie, 
'*  leavin'  oot  Airchie  Moncur  and  masel,  will  rin 
tae  aboot  sax  feet,  but  a'  coontit  that  we 
gaed  up  the  hill  that  nicht  wi'  fower  inches 
a  man  tae  spare.  Whar  's  that  letter,  Bog- 
leigh  ?" 

After  a  feint  of  seeking  it  in  his  trousers, 
where  he  was  as  likely  to  carry  it  as  the 
family  Bible,  David  produced  it  from  an  inner 
breast  pocket,  wrapped  in  newspaper,  and 
handed  it  to  Domsie  without  a  word. 

"  Div  ye  want  me  tae  read  it  ?"' — as  if  this 
had  not  been  the  schoolmaster's  due.  "Weel, 
weel,  a  '11  dae  ma  best,"  and  then  Domsie  laid 
himself  out  to  do  justice  to  the  Professor's 
letter,  while  Drumtochty  wagged  its  head  in 
admiration. 

"  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society,"  and  Domsie 
became  solemn  to  the  height  of  reverence; 
"  this  cowes  a'thing.  A  'm  credibly  informed 
that  this  is  the  highest  honour  given  tae  learn- 
in'  in  oor  land  ;  a  'ill  be  boond  the  '11  no  be 
anither  F.R.S.  in  sax  coonties ;  may  be  no 
mair  than  twa  or  three  in  braid  Scotland." 

"  It 's  the  graundest  thing  the  Glen  's  dune 
yet,"   and   Jamie   took   up  the  strain;    "he  's 


228  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

M.A.  already,  an'  some  ither  letters  ;  yc  cudna 
rin  them  ower?" 

Then  Domsie  gave  John  Ross's  degrees  one 
by  one.  "  That  comes  tae  five,  makin'  nae 
mention  o'  ither  honours ;  there 's  thirty-one 
degrees  in  the  Glen  the  noo,  and  John  heads 
the  list,  if  a'  micht  call  a  Professor  by  a  laddie's 
name." 

"  Wha  hes  a  better  richt?"  said  the  father, 
with  much  spirit  ;  "  ye  laid  the  foondation  o 't 
a',  an'  he  often  said  that  himsel." 

Opinion  differed  whether  David  or  Domsie 
looked  prouder  in  kirk  that  day,  but  Jamie  in- 
clined to  Domsie,  whom  he  had  detected 
counting  the  degrees  over  again  during  the 
chapter. 

Four  Sundays  after  David  appeared  in  the 
kirkyard  with  such  woe  upon  his  face  that 
Drumsheugh  could  only  imagine  one  reason, 
and  omitted  preliminaries. 

*'  Naethin'  wrang  wi'  the  Professor,  Bog- 
leigh  ?"  and  Domsie  held  his  pinch  in  mid 
air. 

"John  wes  deein'  when  this  letter  left,  an' 
noo  he  'ill  maybe  ...  be  dead  an'  buried  .  .  . 
his  mither  an'  me  were  ower  prood  o'  him,  but 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  229 

ye  ken  hoc  .  .  .  gude,"  and  the  old  man  broke 
down  utterly. 

They  looked  helplessly  at  one  another,  avert- 
ing their  gaze  from  the  Professor's  father,  and 
then  Drumsheugh  took  hold  of  the  situation. 

"  This  is  no  lichtsome,  Dauvid,  an'  the 
neeburs  share  yir  tribble,  but  dinna  gie  up 
houp  ;"  and  then  Drumsheugh  read  the  letter 
from  Australia,  while  Hillocks  and  Whinnie, 
turning  their  backs  on  David,  sheltered  his 
grief  from  public  view. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Ross, — You  will  have  noticed 
that  the  last  letter  from  my  friend  Dr.  Ross 
was  written  in  a  feeble  hand.  He  was  laid 
down  about  three  weeks  ago  with  what  has 
turned  out  to  be  typhoid  fever,  and  ought  not 
to  have  seen  paper.  But  we  considered  the 
case  a  mild  one,  and  he  was  determined  to 
send  his  usual  letter  home.  Now  the  disease 
has  taken  a  bad  turn,  and  he  is  quite  delirious, 
mentioning  his  mother  and  his  old  school- 
master by  turns,  and  thinking  that  he  is  again 
in  Drumtochty.  His  colleagues  in  medicine 
are  consulting  twice  a  day  about  him,  and 
everything  will  be  done  for  one  we  all  admire 
and  love.     But  he  is  very  low,  and  I  think  it 


230  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

right    to    prepare   you    for   what    may  be  bad 
news. — BeHeve  me,  with   much  respect,  yours 

^'  *'  Frederick  St.  Clair." 

'•  A  've  seen  a  mair  cheerfu'  letter,"  and 
Drumsheugh  looked  at  the  fathers  from  above 
his  spectacles;  "but  it  micht  be  waur.  A '11 
guarantee  the  Professor  's  no  as  far  through  wi 
't  as  Saunders,  an'  yonder  he  is  alive  and  livin' 
like,"  nodding  in  the  direction  where  that 
brawny  man  propped  up  the  gable  of  the  kirk 
with  his  shoulders  and  maintained  a  massive 
silence  with  Tammas  Mitchell. 

"  Nae  doot,  nae  doot,"  said  Hillocks,  deriv- 
ing just  encouragement  from  the  study  of 
Saunders's  figure ;  "  aifter  the  wy  Weelum 
Maclure  brocht  Saunders  through  a'  wud  houp 
for  the  best  gin  a'  wes  Bogleigh." 

"  Sae  a'  wud,  neeburs,"  and  David  came 
forth  again,  "gin  we  hed  oor  laddie  at  hame 
an'  oor  ain  man  tae  guide  him.  But  there 's 
nae  Weelum  Maclure  oot  yonder — naebody 
but  strangers." 

"  We  micht  ask  the  doctor  tae  pit  up  a 
prayer,"  suggested  Hillocks ;  "  it  cudna  dae 
ony  mischief,  an'  it  's  aye  a  comfort." 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  231 

"He  daurna  dae't,"  cried  David,  whose 
mind  was  quickened  by  grief ;  "  it  'ill  be  a' 
ower  lang  syne,  an'  it  's  no  lawfu'  tae  pray  for 
.  .  .  the  dead." 

"  Dinna  be  feared.  Bogie,"  said  Jamie  ;  "the 
doctor  'ill  tak  the  responsibeelity  himsel,  and 
ye  may  be  sure  he  'ill  get  some  road  oot  o'  the 
wood.  It  wud  be  a  puir  kirk  the  day  gin  w^e 
cudna  plead  wi'  the  Almichty  for  oor  Pro- 
fessor." 

"  Ye  hae  the  word,  Jamie,"  said  Drums- 
heugh,  "  an'  a  '11  gang  in  an'  tell  the  doctor 
masel ;"  but  Whinnie  confessed  afterwards 
that  he  thought  this  prayer  beyond  even  the 
doctor. 

It  followed  the  petition  for  the  harvest,  and 
this  was  how  it  ran — the  Free  Kirk  people  had 
it  word  for  word  by  Monday — 

"  Remember,  we  beseech  Thee,  most  merci- 
ful Father,  a  father  and  mother  who  wait  with 
anxious  hearts  for  tidings  of  their  only  son,  and 
grant  that,  before  this  week  be  over,  Thy  ser- 
vant who  is  charged  with  many  messages  to 
this  parish  may  bring  to  them  good  news  from 
a  far  country." 

"  Didna  a'  tell  ye?"  triumphed  Jamie,  going 


*32  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

down  to  the  gate,  while  Posty,  who  had  re- 
quired the  whole  length  of  the  sermon  to  rec- 
ognise himself,  departed,  much  lifted,  declaring 
aloud : 

"  The  '11  be  nae  black  edge  in  the  bag  next 
Friday,  or  a  'm  no  postman  o'  Drumtochty." 

Letters  for  Bogleigh  were  left  about  two 
o'clock  in  a  box  on  the  main  road  two  miles 
distant,  and  brought  up  by  the  scholars  in  the 
evening ;  but  it  was  agreed  early  in  the  week 
that  David  and  his  wife  should  go  down  and 
receive  the  letter  from  Posty's  own  hands  on 
Friday.  In  order  not  to  be  late,  Meg  rose  at 
four  that  morning — but  indeed  she  need  not 
have  gone  to  bed — and  by  eight  o'clock  was 
afraid  they  might  be  late.  Three  times  she 
took  out  and  rearranged  her  treasures,  and 
three  times  broke  down  utterly,  because  she 
would  never  see  her  laddie  again.  They  fol- 
lowed Posty  from  his  start  outwards,  and  were 
comforted  about  eleven  with  the  thought  that 
he  was  on  the  return  journey. 

"He's  fairly  aff  for  hame  noo,  wumman," 
David  would  say,  "  an'  wheepin'  through  Neth- 
eraird ;  he 's  no  mair  than  ten  mile  awa,  a  '11 
warrant,  an'  he  's  a  terrible  walker." 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  233 

"  He  'ill  surely  no  be  tastin'at  the  Netheraird 
public-hoose,  Dauvid,  an'  loiterin' ;  a  've  kent 
him  no  be  at  the  box  till  half  three." 

"  Na,  na.  there  's  nae  fear  o'  Posty  the  day ; 
a  '11  be  boond  he 's  savin'  every  meenut ;  ye 
mind  hoo  prood  he  wes  tae  bring  the  letter  wV 
the  Professor's  appintment." 

"Isn't  it  michty  tae  think  we're  pittin'  afT 
the  time  here,"  and  Meg  began  to  get  ready, 
"when  he's  maybe  in  the  pairish  already?" 

It  was  exactly  a  quarter  past  twelve  when 
the  two  old  people  sat  down  in  the  shadow  of 
the  firs  above  the  box  to  wait  for  the  first  sight 
of  Posty. 

"  A'  daurna  meet  him,  Dauvid,  aifter  a',"  she 
said  ;  "  we  'ill  juist  watch  him  pit  the  letter  in, 
and  slip  doon  when  he 's  gane,  an'  ...  oh  ! 
but  a'  ken  what  it  'ill  be." 

"  A  'm  expeckin  tae  hear  John  's  on  the  mend 
masel,"  said  David  manfully,  and  he  set  him- 
self to  fortify  his  wife  with  Saunders's  case  and 
the  doctor's  prayer,  till  she  lifted  her  head  again 
and  watched. 

A  summer  wind  passed  over  the  pines,  the 
wood-pigeons  cooed  above  their  heads,  rabbits 
ran  out  and  in  beside  them,  the  burn  below 
Q 


234  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

made  a  pleasant  sound,  a  sense  of  the  Divine 
Love  descended  on  their  hearts. 

"  The  Almichty,"  whispered  Meg,  "  'ill  surely 
no  tak  awa  oor  only  bairn  .  .  .  an'  him  dune 
sae  weel  .  .  .  an'  sae  gude  a  son.  .  .  A'  wes 
coontin'  on  him  comin'  hame  next  year  .  .  . 
an'  seein'  him  aince  mair  .  .  .  afore  a'  deed." 

A  bread  cart  from  Kildrummie  lumbered 
along  the  road.  Maclure  passed  on  Jess  at  a 
sharp  trot.  A  company  of  tourists  returning 
from  Glen  Urtach  sang  "  Will  ye  no  come  back 
again  ?"  Donald  Menzies  also  sang  as  he 
brought  a  horse  from  the  smiddy,  but  it  was  a 

psalm — ■ 

"  I  to  the  hills  will  lift  my  eyes. 
From  whence  doth  come  mine  aid." 

"Can  ye  no  see  him  yet,  Dauvid?  a'  doot 
he  's  hed  an  accident ;  it  maun  be  lang  past  the 
'oor  noo.     Yonder  he  is." 

But  it  was  only  a  tramp,  who  hesitated  at 
the  foot  of  the  upland  road,  and  then  contin- 
ued his  way  to  the  village,  careless  who  lived 
or  died,  so  that  he  had  meat  and  drink. 

Round  the  distant  corner  Posty  came  at  last, 
half  an  hour  before  his  time  and  half  a  mile  the 
hour  above  his  common  speed. 

"  WuU  ye  gang  doon,  Meg?" 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  235 

"  A'  canna  ;  bring 't  up  tae  me  when  he  's 
past,"  and  she  sat  down  again  and  covered  her 
face  ;  "  tell  me  gin  it 's  come." 

Posty  halted  and  swung  round  his  bag ;  he 
took  out  the  packet  of  road-side  letters  and 
dropped  four  into  the  box  without  attention  ; 
then  he  kept  a  fifth  in  his  hands  and  hesitated  ; 
he  held  it  up  against  the  light  as  if  he  would 
have  read  its  contents. 

He  's  got  it,  an',  Meg,  wumman,  a'  dinna  see 
,  .  .  ony  black  on  't." 

Posty  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said  aloud  : 

"A  '11  risk  the  time;  it  'ill  no  tak  mair  than 
an  'oor,"  and  he  leaped  the  dyke. 

"  Lord's   sake,    Bogleigh,    is   that   you  ?     A' 
wes  thinkin'  o'  whuppin'   round  yir  wy  the  day 
for  a  change  ;  in  fac,"  and  Posty's  effort  at  in 
difference   collapsed,    "  word  's   come   frae  Aus- 
traly." 

"  Wull  ye  .  .  .  open  't  for 's  ?  ma  hand  's  .  .  . 
no  verra  steady,  an'  the  gude  wife  .  .  .  hesna 
her  glesses." 

"  Mr.  David  Ross, 
Farmer, 

Bogleigh, 

Drumtochty, 
Scotland." 


236  GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 

read  Posty,  with  official  importance ;  that  's  a* 
richt,  at  ony  rate." 

"  He  aye  sent  it  tae  his  mither  himsel ;  juist 
read  the  beginnin',  Posty  .  .  .  that  'ill  be 
eneuch."  And  David  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  let- 
ter, while  Meg  dared  not  breathe. 

"  It  affords  me  unspeakable  satisfaction,"  be- 
gan Posty,  in  a  low  voice,  and  then  he  suddenly 
lifted  it  up  in  victory,  "  to  send  good  news. 
The  very  day  I  wrote  the  worst  symptoms  dis- 
appeared, and  your  son  is  now  on  the  way  to 
recovery." 

"  There 's  fower  pages,  an'  a'  can  read,  '  no 
cause  now  for  alarm,'  but  ye  canna  better  the 
affset.  A'  kent  what  it  wud  be ;  the  doctor 
said  gude  news  in  his  prayer,  and  that 's  the 
verra  word. 

"  Here,  Mistress  Ross,  is  the  letter,  for  Bog- 
leigh  's  no  fit  tae  tak  chairge  o  't.  .  .  .  Me  ? 
A  've  dune  naethin'  but  cairry  it. 

"  A  '11  no  deny,  though,  a'  wud  hae  liket  fine 
tae  hev  seen  the  inside  o  't  doon  bye ;  sail,  as 
sune  as  a'  passed  the  boondary  o'  the  pairish 
the  fouk  set  on  me,  but  a'  cud  say  naethin'  mair 
than  this,  '  There  's  an  Australy  letter,  and  it 's 
no  black-edged.' 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  237 

"  A  'm  aff  noo,"  buckling  his  bag,  for  Mrs. 
Ross  had  risen  and  was  threatening  to  seize  his 
hand  ;  "  an'  it 's  worth  gaein'  up  the  Glen  the 
day  wi'  sic  news.  A  '11  warrant  Domsie  's  on 
the  road  lang  syne.  Ye  'ill  hae  the  Professor 
wi'  ye  in  the  Kirk  again,  gude  wife,  an'  the  nee- 
burs  'ill  be  prood  tae  see  ye  baith  gang  in  the- 
gither,"  and  Posty  leapt  into  the  road  like  a 
four-year-old. 

Beginning  at  the  manse,  and  continuing  unto 
Drumsheugh,  there  was  not  a  house  along  the 
road  where  Posty  did  not  give  a  cry  that  day, 
and  it  was  affirmed  on  credible  evidence  in  the 
kirkyard  next  Sabbath  that  he  stood  upon  a 
dyke  and  made  Hillocks  understand  at  the  dis- 
tance of  two  fields'  breadth  that  Drumtochty 
had  still  a  Professor. 


JAMIE 


A   NIPPY  TONGUE 

Each  community  has  its  own  etiquette,  and  in 
an  advanced  state  of  civilisation  such  beautiful 
words  as  "  Mister"  and  "  Missus"  are  on  every 
one's  tongue,  some  lonely  Northerner  perhaps 
saying  "  Mistress,"  to  the  amusement  of  foot- 
men and  other  persons  of  refinement.  While 
Drumtochty  was  in  its  natural  state,  and  the 
influence  of  Southern  culture  had  scarcely  be- 
gun to  play  on  its  simplicity,  we  had  other 
forms  of  speech.  It  was  good  manners  to  call 
a  farmer  by  his  place,  and  had  any  one  addressed 
Hillocks  as  Mr.  Stirton,  that  worthy  man  would 
have  been  much  startled.  Except  on  envelopes, 
full-length  names  were  reserved  for  the  heading 
of  roups  and  the  death  column  in  newspapers, 
and  so  had  acquired  a  flavour  of  ceremonious 
solemnity.  Ploughmen  v/ere  distinguished  by 
their  Christian   names  in  some  easy  vernacular 


242  JAMIE 

form,  and  the  sudden  introduction  of  the  sur- 
.  name  could  only  be  justified  by  a  furrow  that 
suggested  the  segment  of  a  circle  or  a  return 
from  Kildrummie  fair  minus  a  cart  and  two 
horses.  His  lordship  might  notice  Drums- 
heugh's  foreman  as  he  passed  with  a  "  Busy  as 
usual,  Baxter,"  and  not  be  suspected  of  offence, 
but  other  men  had  said  "  Fine  fillin'  day,  Saun- 
ders," to  which  Saunders  would  have  most 
likely  deigned  no  answer  save  a  motion  of  the 
right  shoulder.  Dignitaries  had  their  titles  by 
prescriptive  right,  the  parish  minister  being 
''  Doctor"  and  the  schoolmaster  "  Dominie," 
but  only  one  man  in  the  Glen  had  the  distinc- 
tion of  a  diminutive,  and  it  was  a  standing  evi- 
dence of  his  place  in  our  hearts. 

It  was  mentioned  with  relish  that  a  Muirtown 
merchant  raiding  for  honey,  having  inquired  of 
Whinnie  Knowe  where  Mr.  James  Soutar  lived, 
had  been  gravely  informed  that  no  person  of 
that  name  lived  in  the  parish,  and  would  have 
departed  to  search  for  him  in  Kildrummie  had 
he  not  chanced  on  Drumsheugh. 

"  Div  ye  mean  Jamie  ?"  and  when  Hillocks 
met  him  two  miles  further  on  he  was  still  feast- 
ing on  the  incident. 


A   NIPPY  TONGUE  243 

"  He  said  *  Mister  James  Soutar'  as  sure  as 
ye  're  lookin'  me  in  the  face,  Hillocks,"  and 
both  tasted  the  humour  of  the  situation,  which 
owed  nothing  to  artifice,  but  sprang  from  the 
irony  of  circumstances. 

"  Jamie,"  ejaculated  Drumsheugh,  and  a  flood 
of  recollections — scenes,  stories,  incidents — 
swept  across  his  face.  Had  he  been  a  Kil- 
drummie  man,  he  Avould  have  laughed  at  the 
things  he  heard  and  saw. 

"  Sail,"  wound  up  Hillocks,  Avho  had  been 
tasting  the  same  passed  in  silence,  "  he  's  an 
awfu'  body,  Jamie ;  ye  'ill  no  get  the  marra 
(equal)  of  him  in  six  pairishes." 

Drumtochty  did  not  ground  its  admiration  of 
Jamie  on  his  personal  appearance,  which  lent 
itself  to  criticism  and  suggested  a  fine  careless- 
ness on  the  part  of  nature.  His  head  was  too 
large  for  his  body,  and  rested  on  his  chest. 
One  shoulder  had  a  twist  forward  which  in- 
vested Jamie  with  an  air  of  aggression.  His 
legs  were  constructed  on  the  principle  that  one 
knee  said  to  the  other,  If  you  let  me  pass  this 
time,  I  '11  let  you  pass  next  time. 

"  Gin  ye  were  juist  tae  luke  at  Jamie,  ye 
micht  ca'  him  a  shachlin'  (shambling)  cratur," 


244  JAMIE 

Drumsheugh  once  remarked,  leaving  it  to  be 
inferred  that  the  understanding  mind  could 
alone  appreciate  him,  and  that  in  this  matter 
Drumtochty  walked  by  faith  and  not  by  sight. 
His  rate  of  progression  was  over  four  miles  an 
hour,  but  this  method  was  sideways,  and  was 
so  wonderful,  not  to  say  impressive,  that  even 
a  phlegmatic  character  like  Drumsheugh's 
Saunders  had  been  known  to  follow  Jamie's 
back  view  till  it  disappeared,  and  then  to  say 
"  michty,"  with  deliberation.  Young  animals 
that  developed  any  marked  individuality  in 
gait  were  named  after  Jamie  without  offence, 
and  were  understood  to  have  given  pledges  of 
intelligence,  since  it  was  believed  that  nature 
worked  on  the  principle  of  compensation. 

"  There  *s  been  an  oversicht  aboot  Jamie's 
legs,  but  there 's  naethin'  wrang  wi'  his  tongue," 
and  it  was  the  general  judgment  that  it  did  not 
"  shackle." 

Jamie's  gift  of  speech  was  much  aided  by 
eyes  that  were  enough  to  redeem  many  defects 
in  the  under  building.  They  were  blue — not 
the  soft  azure  of  the  South,  but  the  steely 
colour  of  a  Scottish  loch  in  sunshine,  with  a 
north-east    wind    blowing — a    keen,    merciless, 


A   NIPPY   TONGUE  245 

penetrating  blue.  It  gave  a  shock  to  find  them 
fastened  on  one  when  he  did  not  knovv  Jamie 
was  paying  any  attention  and  they  sobered  him 
in  an  instant.  Fallacies,  cant,  false  sentiment, 
and  every  form  of  unreality  shrivelled  up  before 
that  gaze,  and  there  were  times  one  dared  not 
emerge  from  the  shelter  of  the  multiplication 
table.  He  had  a  way  of  watching  an  eloquent 
stranger  till  the  man's  sentences  fell  to  pieces 
and  died  away  in  murmurs  before  he  said  "Ay, 
ay,"  that  was  very  effective  ;  and  when  he  re- 
peated this  deliverance,  after  a  pause  of  thirty 
seconds,  even  Whinnie  understood  that  the 
kirkyard  had  been  listening  to  nonsense. 

It  seems  but  yesterday  that  Milton — who  had 
come  into  the  Glen  a  month  before  from  Muir- 
town,  and  visited  the  two  churches  to  detect 
errors  for  two  months — was  explaining  the 
signs  of  true  religion  to  the  silent  kirkyard, 
when  he  caught  Jamie's  eye  and  fell  avmy  into 
the  weather,  and  the  minister  of  Kildrummie's 
son,  who  was  preaching  for  the  doctor,  and 
winding  up  his  sermon  with  an  incredible  anec- 
dote, came  under  the  spell  at  the  distance  of 
the  pulpit,  and  only  saved  himself  by  giving 
out  a  psalm.     The  man  who  passed  Jamie's  eye 


246  JAMIE 

was  true  to  the  backbone,  and  might  open  his 
mouth  in  any  place. 

Every  man  requires  room  for  the  play  of  his 
genius,  and  it  was  generally  agreed  that  Jamie, 
who  had  pricked  many  wind  bags,  came  to  his 
height  in  dealing  with  Milton. 

"  Milton  wes  faithfu'  wi'  ye  in  the  third 
comin'  up  frae  the  Junction  on  Friday  nicht, 
a  'm  hearin',  Drumsheugh ;  the  fouk  say  ye 
were  that  affeckit  ye  cud  hardly  gie  yir  ticket 
tae  Peter." 

"  He  *s  the  maist  barefaced  (impudent)  wratch 
that 's  ever  been  seen  in  this  Glen,"  and  Drums- 
heugh went  at  large;  "he  'ill  ask  ye  questions 
nae  man  hes  ony  richt  tae  pit  tae  neebur.  An* 
a  wakely  cratur  as  weel,  greetin'  an'  whinin' 
like  a  bairn." 

"  A  'm  astonished  at  ye,"  said  Jamie  in  grave 
rebuke,  "  an'  you  an  elder.  Ye  sud  be  thankfu' 
sic  a  gude  man  hes  come  tae  the  pairish.  There  's 
naethin'  but  dry  banes,  he  says,  but  he 's  ex- 
peckin'  tae  roose  us  afore  he  's  dune. 

"  He 's  no  feared,  a  '11  admit,"  continued 
Jamie,  "  but  a  'm  no  sae  sure  that  he  's  wakely ; 
ye  didna  hear  o'  him  an*  his  pairtn^r  in  the 
cloth  shop  at  Muirtown," 


A   NIPPY   TONGUE  247 

The  kirkyard  thirsted  for  the  news, 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  the  pairtner  pit  in  five  hun- 
dert,  an'  Milton  pit  in  five,  and  they  cairried  on 
business  for  sax  year  thegither.  They  separa- 
ted laist  spring,  an'  Milton  cam  oot  wi'  a  thoo 
sand  an'  the  pairtner  wi'  naethin'. 

"  Milton  hed  been  sairly  tried  wi'  the  ither 
man's  warldliness,  walkin'  on  Sabbath  an'  sic- 
like,  an'  he  wes  sayin'  in  the  train  that  he  felt 
like  Jacob  wi'  Esau  all  the  time.  It 's  grand 
tae  hae  the  poor  o'  Bible  illustration.  A  thoo- 
sand  wud  juist  stock  Milton  fine,  an'  leave  a 
note  or  twa  in  the  bank. 

"  What  a  'm  feared  for  is  that  some  misguided 
Drumtochty  man  micht  try  tae  tak  advantage 
o'  Milton  in  a  bargain  an'  get  a  jidgment. 
Providence,  ye  ken,  watches  ower  thae  simple- 
minded  craturs,  an'  it 's  juist  wunnerfu'  hoo 
they  come  aff  in  the  end.  But  a  'm  dootin' 
that  he  's  no  strong ;  he  hes  tae  tak  care  o' 
himsel." 

As  the  fathers  waited  patiently  for  more, 
Jamie  continued  in  his  most  casual  tone : 

"  He  cairried  a  box  in  his  hand  Friday  a  week, 
an'  pit  it  ablow  the  seat  in  the  kerridge  ;  it  wes 
aboot  auchteen  inches  square  and  nine  deep,  an' 


24S  JAMIE 

markit  '  Hoggs'  Patent  Soap  ;  '  thae  new  soaps 
are  brittle  ;  a'  dinna  wunner  he  wes  carefu'. 

"  Ye  Slid  hae  heard  him  on  the  drinkin'  at 
Muirtown  market  an'  the  duty  of  total  absti- 
nence ;  he  wantit  Hillocks  tae  tak  the  pledge 
at  the  Junction,  but  Drumtochty  fouk  's  dour 
an'  ill  tae  manage. 

"  Milton  wes  that  agitat  when  he  got  tae  Kil- 
drummie  that  he  lat  his  box  fa'  on  the  platform  ; 
a'  wes  juist  wunnerin'  whether  they  sell  soap 
in  bottles  noo,  when  he  said,  '  It  's  ma  medee- 
cine,  for  the  circulation  o'  the  blood  ;  a  'm  a 
frail  vessel.' 

"  A'  thocht  that  we  micht  hae  been  kinder 
tae  Milton,  an'  him  sic  a  sufferer;  twelve  quart 
bottles  is  a  sair  allowance  o'  medeecine  for  ae 
puir  man,"  and  a  far-away  look  came  into 
Jamie's  face. 

Jamie's  interest  in  Milton  deepened  every 
week,  till  he  seemed  to  charge  himself  with 
the  vindication  of  Milton's  character  against  all 
aspersions,  and  its  interpretation  to  a  critical 
public.  When  it  passed  round  Kildrummie  fair 
that  that  guileless  man  had  landed  a  cow  on 
Mary  Robertson  at  a  high  price,  which  was 
fair  to  look  upon,  but  had  a  fixed  objection  to 


A   NIPPY   TONGUE  249 

giving  milk,  Jamie  declared  it  was  an  invention 
of  the  enemy,  and  assured  Milton  of  his  un- 
shaken confidence  in  the  presence  of  seven 
solemnised  neighbours. 

"  Some  ill-set  wratches,"  he  apologised  to 
Milton,  "  canna  bear  the  sicht  o'  a  raelly  gude 
man,  an'  are  aye  gettin'  up  stories  aboot  him.  Tae 
think  ye  wud  cheat  a  puir  wumman  aboot  a  coo." 

"We  maun  juist  bear  reproach,"  began  Mil- 
ton, with  his  best  accent. 

"  Na,  na,  a'  said  tae  them,"  and  Jamie  re- 
fused to  listen,  "  ye  needna  tell  me  ony  sic 
stories.  Milton  is  no  an  ordinary  professor,  an' 
he  kens  his  Bible.  Div  ye  think  he  's  forgotten 
the  passage  aboot  robbin'  the  widow?  " 

"Ye 're  makin'  a  mistak " 

"Ma  verra  words,  Milton.  '  It's  been  a  mis- 
tak,' a'  said,  '  an'  the  meenut  he  finds  it  oor, 
Milton  'ill  gie  back  the  money.  What  richt 
hae  ye  tae  consider  him  little  better  than  a 
twa-faced  heepocrite  ?'  " 

"There  's  no  a  man  in  the  Glen  wud  hae  got 
Mar>''s  notes  back  frae  Milton  but  yersel, 
Jamie,"  said  Drumsheugh,  celebrating  the 
achievement  in  the  kirkyard  next  Sabbath. 
"  There  's  a  michty  poor  in  a  nippy  tongue." 


250  JAMIE 

Milton  lost  his  second  wife  shortly  after  he 
came  to  the  Glen,  and  it  fell  to  Jamie  to  ex- 
plain the  widower's  feelings  to  the  fathers. 

"  *  It  's  a  sair  dispensation/  he  said  tae  me, 
'an'  comes  heavy  when  the  calves  are  young; 
but  we  maunna  complain.  There  's  aye  mercy 
mingled  wi'  judgment.  She  micht  hae  been 
taken  afore  she  hed  got  the  hoose  in  order. 

"  '  A  'm  houpin'  for  the  best,  an'  a'  think  the 
root  o'  the  maitter  wes  in  her;  there  wes  times 
a'  wud  hae  liked  tae  hear  a  clearer  testimony, 
but  we  hevna  a'  the  same  gifts,  an'  there  's  nae 
doot  she' wes  savin'  wi'  the  gear. 

"'She  expressed  hersel  as  thankfu'  for  oor 
merridge,  an'  considered  it  a  priveelege ;  but 
ma  first  wes  mair  experienced  in  doctrine,  and 
hed  a  gift  o'  prayer,  though  fractious  in  tem- 
per at  a  time.     Ye  canna  get  a'thing,  ye  ken.' 

"  He  hes  a  photograph  o'  the  laist  ane  abune 
the  fireplace  in  a  frame  wi'  an  inscription,  an* 
he  wipit  his  eyes  an'  says,  '  We  maun  look  up, 
ma  freend,  an'  be  resigned  ;  it 's  an  awfu'  job 
tae  ideelize  the  creature.' 

"  '  Ye  'ill  no  dae  weel  withoot  a  wife  here, 
Milton,'  says  I;  '  hoosekeepers  are  dear,  an' 
ve  'ill   never  get  the  wark  o'  yir  wife   oot    of 


A   NIPPY   TONGUE  251 

ane ;  it  wcs  maybe  a  peety  ye  lat  her  trachle 
(fatig-ue)  hcrsel  when  she  wesna  strong,  but  gin 
a  man  be  busy  wi'  speeritual  affairs  he  disna 
notice,'  an'  a'  askit  him  if  he  wes  thinkin'  o'  a 
third." 

"  Did  ye  dae  that,  Jamie  ? "  said  Hillocks, 
"an' her  no  gane  a  month.  Milton  'ill  think 
us  a  gey  hard-hearted  set  in  Drumtochty,"  and 
the  fathers  looked  as  if  Jamie  had  gone  too  far. 

"  He  's  no  hed  ony  time  tae  think  o  't  yet," 
continued  Jamie,  quietly,  "  an'  is  tae  leave  him- 
sel  in  the  hands  o'  Providence.  '  I  '11  be  guidit, 
nae  doot,  an'  a'  maun  juist  wait.'  His  lan- 
gidge  wes  beautiful  tae  hear.  '  Half  the  rent 
o'  Milton  'ill  need  tae  come  oot  the  dairy,  but 
we  maun  mairry  in  the  Lord.'  He  wes  sair 
affeckit  a'  left,  and  speakin'  aboot  *  Mama.' 
A'  gie  him  sax  months  masel." 

"  Yir  tongue  got  the  better  o'  ye  that  day,  a' 
doot,  Jamie,"  and  Hillocks,  who  had  married 
twice  with  fair  pecuniary  success,  was  dis- 
tinctly nettled.  "  What 's  a  man  tae  dae  with- 
oot  a  wife  tae  haud  things  in  aboot  an*  see  tae 
the  hens?  Forbye,  bein'  company,"  throwing 
in  a  sentimental  consideration. 

"  Gin  a  man  wants  a  woman  tae  gither  eggs 


252  JAMIE 

an'  sew  buttons  on  his  sark  (shirt),  he  micht 
mairry  twal  times  rinnin',  an'  naebody  need 
say  a  word.  But  what  richt  hes  sic  a  man  tae 
speak  o'  wife  or  .  .  .  luve?  He's  juist  a  po- 
leegamist." 

"  Lord's  sake,"  ejaculated  Hillocks,  and  the 
kirkyaird  felt  that  this  was  very  wild  talk  in' 
deed,  and  even  personal. 

"  Naethin'  else,"  and  Jamie's  voice  vibrated 
with  a  new  note.  "  Gin  a  man  gaes  afore  his 
family  tae  America  tae  mak  a  hame  for  them, 
an'  leaves  his  wife  here  for  a  whilie,  is  he  no 
mairrit  ?  Wud  he  mairry  another  wife  oot 
there  tae  keep  his  hoose,  an'  say  he  hed  juist 
ae  wife  because  the  sea  wes  rollin'  atween  the 
twa  women  ?  " 

"  He   daurna,"  replied  Whinnie,  who    never 

saw  six   inches   ahead  ;  "  the   polis "     But 

Drumsheugh  waved  him  to  silence. 

"  Weel,  gin  the  woman  leaves  the  man  an' 
passes  intae  the  ither  warld,  is  she  deid,  think 
ye,  neeburs,  an'  is  she  no'  his  wife  ?  An'  mair 
nor  that,  are  the  twa  no'  nearer  than  ever,  an' 
.  .  .  dearer  ? 

"  Ye  'ill  be  sayin'  in  yir  hearts,  it  's  no  for 
Jamie  Soutar  tae  be  speakin'  like  this,  him  at 's 


A   NIPPY   TONGITE  253 

been  alane  a'  his  days;  but  a've  ma  ain 
thochts,  an'  the  deepest  thing,  ay,  and  the  bon- 
niest, in  the  warld  is  a  man  an'  a  wumman  ane 
in  luve  for  ever." 

Jamie  turned  round  and  went  into  the  kirk 
hurriedly,  but  Drumsheugh  lingered  behind  for 
a  minute  with  Dr.  Maclure,  who  was  making 
his  quarterly  attendance. 

"  What  think  ye  o'  that,  Weelum  ?  It  bore  a 
wee  hard  on  Hillocks,  but  it  wes  michty  speakin' 
an'  gared  (made)  the  blood  rin.  Jamie  's  a  hard 
wratch  ootside,  but  he's  gude  stuff  inside." 

"  Did  ye  ever  notice,  Drum,  that  Jamie  hes 
hed  a  black  band  on  his  Sabbath  hat  as  far  back 
as  a'  can  mind  ?  A'  his  freends  are  deid  mair 
than  thirty  year  syne.  Wha  's  it  for,  think  ye  ? 
A  'm  thinkin'  naebody  'ill  get  tae  the  boddom  o' 
Jamie  till  he  fins  oot  the  meanin'  o'  that  band." 

"  Ye  may  be  richt,  Weelum,  an'  a  've  wun- 
nered  tae,  but  Jamie  'ill  never  tell ;  he  hes 
his  ain  secret,  an'  he  'ill  keep  it."  The  two 
men  followed  their  neighbours,  and  Drums- 
heugh said  to  himself,  "  Puir  Jamie ;  the  auld 
story." 

The  kirkyard  kept  Jamie  in  exercise,  but  it 
was  on  one  of  our  rare  public  occasions  that  he 


254  JAMIE 

made  history,  and  two  of  his  exploits  are  still 
subject  of  grateful  recollection,  and  a  bond 
between  Drumtochty  men  in  foreign  parts.  One 
was  the  vote  of  thanks  to  the  temperance  lec- 
turer who  had  come,  with  the  best  intentions, 
to  reform  the  Glen,  and  who,  with  the  confi- 
dence of  a  youthful  Southern  and  a  variable  hold 
of  the  letter  aitch,  used  great  freedom  of  speech. 
He  instructed  us  all,  from  Doctor  Davidson  in 
the  chair  down  to  the  smith,  whom  he  described 
as"  an  intelligent  hartisan,"  and  concluded  with 
a  pointed  appeal  to  Domsie  to  mend  his  ways 
and  start  a  Band  of  Hope  in  the  school. 

"  Solomon  says,  '  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way 
that  he  should  go,  and  when  he  is  old  he  will 
never  depart  from  it ;'  and  I  '11  apply  these 
words  to  the  Glen  of  Drumtochty,  *  Train  hup 
a  child  to  'ate  the  bottle,  and  when  he  is  old 
he  'ill  never  depart  from  it  ;'  "  and  the  lecturer 
sat  down  in  a  silence  that  might  be  heard. 

There  was  something  approaching  a  rustle 
when  Jamie  rose  to  propose  the  vote  of  thanks 
— several  charging  themselves  with  snuff  in 
haste,  that  a  word  might  not  be  lost — and  no 
one  was  disappointed. 

"  Doctor  Davidson  an'  neeburs,"  said  Jamie- 


A    NIPPY   TONGUE  255 

"  it  wudna  be  richt  that  this  young  gentleman 
sud  come  sae  far  o'  his  ain  accord  and  give  us 
sic  a  faithfu'  address  withoot  oor  thanks,  al- 
though he  'ill  excuse  us  puir  country  fouk  for 
no  bein'  able  to  speak  his  beautiful  Eng- 
lish. 

"  We  a'  admired  his  ingenious  application  o' 
Proverbs,  an'  he  may  be  sure  that  nane  o'  us  'ill 
forget  that  new  Proverb  as  lang  as  we  live ;  a' 
micht  say  that  it  'ill  be  a  household  word  in  the 
Glen. 

"  Gin  it  's  no  presumption  tae  say  it,  it 's  verra 
interestin'  tae  see  hoo  much  experience  the  lec- 
turer hes  for  his  years  in  the  up  bringing  o' 
bairns,  and  a'  mak  nae  doot  the  learned  bodies 
in  the  Glen,  as  well  as  the  parents,  'ill  lay  his 
words  tae  heart. 

"  There  wes  a  man  in  a  glen  north-bye," 
modestly  offering  an  anecdote  for  the  lecturer's 
future  use,  "  'at  wes  sober  (ill),  an'  the  doctor, 
wha  wes  a  verra  ignorant  man,  said  he  wud 
need  a  small  tastin'  tae  keep  up  his  strength. 
But  the  man  wes  of  the  lecturer's  persuasion, 
and  wud  drink  nothing  but  water.  The  weather 
wes  terrible  cold,  and  one  day,  juist  five  minutes 
aifter   he  hed  his  mornin'  gless  of  water,  the 


256  JAMIE 

man  died.  When  they  opened  him  it  wes 
found  that  he  hed  frozen  up  inch  by  inch,  and 
the  laist  gless  had  juist  turned  tae  ice  in  his 
throat.  It  wes  sic  a  noble  instance  o'  conscien- 
tious adherence  tae  principle  that  a'  thocht  a' 
vvud  mention  it  for  the  lecturer's  encourage- 
ment." And  when  Jamie  sat  down  the  au- 
dience were  looking  before  them  with  an  immov- 
able countenance,  and  the  doctor  held  out  his 
silver  snuff  box  to  Jamie  afterwards  with 
marked  consideration. 

It  is,  however,  generally  agreed  that  Jamie's 
most  felicitous  stroke  was  his  guileless  response 
to  the  humiliating  invitation  of  a  lay  preacher, 
who  had  secured  the  use  of  the  Free  Kirk,  and 
held  a  meeting  under  Milton's  auspices. 

"  Now,  my  dear  friends,"  said  the  good  man, 
a  half-pay  Indian  Colonel,  with  a  suspicion  of 
sunstroke,  "  all  who  wish  to  go  to  heaven  stand 
up,"  and  Drumtochty  rose  in  a  solid  mass,  ex- 
cept Lachlan  Campbell,  who  considered  the 
preacher  ignorant  of  the  very  elements  of  doc- 
trine, and  Jamie,  who  was  making  a  study  of 
Milton  with  great  enjoyment. 

Much  cheered  by  this  earnest  spirit,  the 
Colonel  then   asked  any  Drumtochty  man  (or 


A   NIPPY   TONGUE  257 

woman)  who  wished  to  go  elsewhere  to  declare 
himself  after  the  same  fashion. 

No  one  moved  for  the  space  of  thirty  seconds, 
and  the  preacher  was  about  to  fall  back  on 
general  exhortation,  when  Jamie  rose  in  his 
place  and  stood  with  great  composure. 

"  You  surely  did  not  understand  what  I  said, 
my  aged  friend." 

Jamie  indicated  that  he  had  thoroughly 
grasped  the  Colonel's  meaning. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  you  arc  ready  to 
.  .  .  go  .  .  .  where  I  mentioned?" 

"  A  'm  no  anxious  for  sic  a  road,"  said  Jamie, 
blandly,  "  but  a'  cudna  bear  tae  see  ye  stannin' 
alane,  and  you  a  stranger  in  the  pairish,"  and 
Drumtochty,  which  had  been  taken  unawares 
and  was  already  repenting  a  weak  concession, 
went  home  satisfied. 

Hillocks  was  so  drawn  to  Jamie  after  this 
incident  that  he  forgave  him  his  wild  views  on 
marriage,  and  afforded  him  an  opportunity  of 
explaining  his  hat-band. 

"  Ye 're  a  body,  Jamie,"  he  said  in  vague 
compliment,  "an'  every  man  lies  his  ain  wys ; 
but  hoo  is 't  that  ye  aye  hae  a  band  on  yir 
hat?" 


258  JAMIE 

"What  think  ye  yersel  ? "  and  Jamie  eyed 
Hillocks  with  a  gleam  of  humour. 

"As  sure  's  deith,  Jamie,  a'  canna  guess,  un- 
less it  be  a  notion." 

"  Toots,  man,  a'  thocht  ye  wud  hae  been  sure 
tae  jalouse  the  truth  o'  a'  the  fouk  in  the  Glen  ; 
div  ye  no  ken  that  a  band  hides  the  grease  an' 
maks  a  hat  laist  twice  as  lang?  " 

"Is  that  a'?"  said  Hillocks;  "juist  econ- 
omy ?  " 

"Ye  hae  the  word,"  answered  Jamie,  with 
unblushing  face.  "  That  band  's  savit  me  the 
price  o'  twa  new  hats  in  forty  year." 

It  was  on  the  way  home  from  kirk,  and  after 
Hillocks  had  turned  into  his  own  road  Jamie 
took  off  his  hat  and  brushed  the  band  with  a 
reverent  hand. 


II 

A   CYNIC'S    END 

When  Jamie  "  sHppit  awa"  and  the  kirkyard 
met  to  pass  judgment,  it  was  agreed  that  he  had 
been  a  thorough-going  imposter  and  had  guite 
befooled  the  outer  world,  but  that  he  had  never 
taken  in  the  Glen. 

"  It  cowed  a'  tae  hear  Kildrummic  lecturin' 
on  Jamie  in  the  third  laist  Friday,"  said  Drums- 
heugh,  with  immense  contempt ;  "  ye  sud  hae 
been  there,  Hillocks  ;  a'  never  heard  as  muckle 
doonricht  nonsense  atween  the  Junction  an'  the 
station  in  forty  year.  Man,  gin  Jamie  hed 
juist  been  in  the  train  himsel,  he  wud  hae  been 
terrible  pleased. 

"'He's  awa  noo,'  says  that  juitlin'  (tricky) 
twa-faced  body  Sandie  Mackay,  that  gied  Jamie 
licht  wecht  wi'  his  coal,  'an'  it 's  oor  duty  tae 
be  charitable,  but  a  've  ma  doots  aboot  him. 
His  tongue  Aves  nae  scannal,  an'  he  wes  aye 
maist  veecious  against  speeritual  releegion.*  ** 


26o  JAMIK 

•'What  said  ye,  Drumsheugh  ? "  inquired 
Hillocks,  with  keen  expectation. 

"  Naethin'  worth  mentionin' ;  it's  no  easy 
pittin'  sense  intae  a  Kildrummie  man.  '  Ye  're 
wrang  aboot  Jamie  miscain'  gude  men,  Sandie, 
for  he  wes  awfu'  taen  (taken)  up  wi'  Milton  ; 
he  coonted  him  a  straichforrit,  honourable  man, 
wha  wudna  gie  licht  wecht  or  tak  advantage  o' 
a  neebur.'  " 

"  Ye  hed  him  there ;  he  wud  lat  Jamie  alane 
aifter  that,  a 'm  expeckin'." 

"  '  It 's  a  feedin'  storm  an'  no  lichtsome  for 
the  sheep,'  wes  a'  he  said. 

"  Na,  na,  Sandie  needna  speak  tae  a  Drum- 
tochty  man  aboot  Jamie;  he  didna  live  here  a' 
his  days  withoot  oor  kennin'  him.  There  's  nae 
doot  he  hed  a  tongue,  but  it  wes  aye  on  the 
richt  side. 

"  Div  ye  mind  hoo  he  yokit  on  the  kirkyaird 
ae  day  for  lauchin'  at  Airchie  Moncur  an'  his 
teatotalism?  it  took  us  a*  oor  time  tae  quiet 
him,  he  wes  that  croose  ;  and  ye  ken  it  wes 
Jamie  that  focht  awawi'  Posty  till  the  morning 
he  wes  drooned.  He  got  him  doon  tae  twa 
gless  a  day,  an'  micht  hae  reformed  him  athe- 
gither  gin  he  hedna  been  interrupit. 


A   CYNIC'S   END  261 

"  His  hert  wes  juist  ower  big,  that  wes  the 
maitter  wi'  Jamie,  an'  he  hoddit  (hid)  his  feel- 
ings for  fear  o'  makin'  a  fule  o'  himsel  afore  the 
pairish. 

"  Sail,  he  wesna  verra  parteeklar  what  he 
said  gin  ye  hed  him  in  a  corner.  He  nursit  the 
bit  lassie  that  lived  wi'  Mary  Robertson  for  a 
hale  day  when  she  wes  deein'  o'  diptheria,  an' 
threipit  tae  me  that  he  hed  juist  gi'en  a  cry  in 
passin',  an'  when  Lily  Grant  deed  in  London, 
he  gied  oot  that  her  mistress  hed  paid  for 
bringin'  the  corpse  tae  Drumtochty  kirkyaird. 
He  cud  lee  near  as  weel  as  Milton,  but  it  wes 
aye  tae  cover  his  ain  gudeness. 

"  A'  coontit  Weelum  Maclure  an'  Jamie 
Soutar  the  warmest  herts  in  the  Glen,  an' 
Jamie  's  never  been  the  same  sin  .  .  .  we  lost 
Weelum,  The  kirkyaird 's  no  worth  comin' 
tae  noo  that  Jamie  's  awa." 

It  spoke  volumes  for  Milton's  zeal  that  he 
was  among  the  first  to  visit  Jamie  after  he  took 
to  bed,  and  the  Glen  can  never  be  sufficiently 
thankful  that  Elspeth  Macfadyen  was  present 
to  give  an  accurate  account  of  the  interview. 

'"Whatna  step  is  that  at  the  door?'  said 
Jamie  ;  '  a'  never  herd  it  here  afore  ' ;  and  when 


262  JAMIE 

a'  telt  him  it  wes  Milton,  he  gied  nie  a  luke  an' 
briskit  up  that  meenut. 

" '  Elspeth,  he  's  come  tae  dae  me  gude,  an' 
he  thinks  he  hes  me  in  his  hand ;  pit  him  in 
yon  chair  whar  a'  can  keep  ma  een  on  him,  for 
a'  canna  manage  him  oot  o'  ma  sicht.' 

" '  It 's  solemn  tae  see  ye  brocht  sae  low. 
Jam — Mister  Soutar ' ;  he  thocht  he  micht  try 
Jamie  at  laist,  but  the  spunk  gied  oot  o'  him 
facin'  Jamie.  '  Thae  strokes  are  sent  for  a 
wise  end  ;  they  humble  oor  pride.' 

"  '  It 's  no  a  stroke,'  said  Jamie,  lookin'  fear- 
some at  him  frae  ablow  his  nicht-cap,  '  though 
a  '11  no  deny  there  micht  be  a  titch  o'  rheumat- 
icks.  But  a'  coont  lumbago  mair  subduin' ;  it 
taks  ye  sudden  in  the  sma  o'  the  back,  an'  'ill 
keep  ye  in  the  bit  for  an  'oor.' 

"'A'  wes  thinkin'  o'  the  hert,  no  the  body, 
ma  freend,'  an'  Milton  started  on  the  whine ; 
*aVe  been  afflickit  masel,  an'  dinna  ken  what 
a  'd  been  the  day  hed  it  no  been  for  trials.' 

'* '  Ye  needna  tell  me,  Milton,  for  a'body 
kens  yir  losses,  but  a'  houp  ye  'ill  hae  the 
present  gude  wife  a  whilie  ;  is  she  yir  third  or 
fourth  ?  for  ma  memory  's  gaein'  fast.' 

"  Milton    said    naethin'  for   a  meenut,  an'  a' 


A   CYNIC'S   END  263 

daurna  look  at  him,  but  Jamie's  een  were 
dancin'  in  his  heid  ;  he  wes  haein'  his  last  bout 
wi'  Milton,  an'  it  wes  meat  an'  drink  tae  him. 

"' Wud  ye  Hke  me  tae  read  somethin'?'  be- 
gins Milton  again.  '  A  've  a  fine  tract  here, 
"A  Sandy  Foundation";  it's  verra  searchin' 
an'  rousin','  an'  he  pits  on  his  glesses. 

'"Thank  ye,'  says  Jamie,  'but  thae  tracts 
are  ower  deep  for  a  simple  man  like  masel ;  the 
Bible  dis  for  me  graund.  A've  a  favourite 
passage  ;  noo  if  ye  didna  mind  readin'  't,  it  wud 
be  a  comfort. 

'"Turn  tae  the  23rd  o'  Matthew,  an' it 'ill 
dae  fine  gin  ye  begin  at  the  13th  verse,  "Woe 
unto  ye,  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites,"  an' 
as  sure  as  a'm  lookin'  at  ye,  Drumsheugh, 
Jamie  gared  Milton  feenish  the  chapter,  an' 
ilka  time  heepocrites  wud  come  he  wud  say  tae 
himsel,  '  Maist  comfortin','  till  a'  hed  tae  gae 
ootside;  he  wes  a  veecious  cratur,  Jamie,  when 
he  hed  an  ill-wull  tae  a  body. 

"When  a'  cam  in,  Milton  hed  been  wantin' 
tae  pray,  and  Jamie  wes  layin'  doon  three  con- 
deetions. 

"  '  First,  ye  maunna  scriech  (scream),  for  that 
wud  gae  through  ma  head  ;  secondly,'  just   like 


264  JAMIE 

a  sermon,  *  ye  're  no  tae  gang  wanderin*  aifter 
the  Jews  or  ony  orra  fouk ;  and  laist,  there 's 
tae  be  naethin'  personal,  for  a'  wud  coont  that 
doonricht  impidence.' 

"  '  A  'm  astonished  at  ye,'  says  Milton  ;  '  hoo 
cud  ye  expect  a  blessin*  on  sic  a  prayer?  '  an' 
he  rises  tae  leave.  '  Ye  're  sure  there  's  naethin* 
on  yir  mind,  for  a've  hed  experience.' 

"  '  Weel,  Milton,  noo  that  ye  've  mentioned  't, 
there  is  a  maitter  tribblin'  me,  but  it 's  no  every 
man  a'  cud  trust,  an'  a'  dinnawant  tae  burden  ye.* 

"'Is't  a  sin  o'  omission  or  commission?' 
an'  Milton  wes  as  keen  as  a  ferret.  Puir  cratur, 
little  he  kent  Jamie. 

"  '  Curious  tae  say,  it 's  baith  ;  it 's  maist  ex- 
traordinar'  hoo  near  ye  've  come  tae  't ;  hoo  cud 
ye  ken  ? ' 

"' We 're  a'  frail.  Mister  Soutar,'  an'  Milton 
lookit  as  if  butter  cudna  melt  in  his  mooth  ; 
*ye  michtna  think  it,  but  a've  been  tempit 
masel — lang  syne,  of  coorse ;  baith,  omission 
an'  commission,  did  ye  say?  that's  no  sae 
common." 

"  *  Na,  it  taks  an  accompleeshed  sinner  tae 
manage  baith  at  the  same  time,  an'  a  '11  tell  ye 
the  case,'  an'  a'  saw  something  wes  comin*. 


A    CYNIC'S    END  265 

"*Ye  ken  Sandie  Mackay,  wha  sells  coals  at 
Kildrummie  station  on  week-day  and  preaches 
roond  the  country  on  Sabbaths.  Drums- 
heugh's  Saunders  brocht  up  ma  laist  load  frae 
Sandie ;  "  half  a  ton  best  burning  coal "  wes  on 
the  paper,  an'  wud  ye  believe  me,  a  hundred- 
wecht  short  measure,  an'  half  o'  them  third 
quality — omission  an'  commission. 

"  'A'  can  see  ye  're  scandalised,  for  a'  mind 
noo,  ye  've  been  acquant  wi'  Sandie  in  meet- 
ings ;  noo,  Milton,  a'  wes  calc'latin'  that  a  've 
lost  sax  and  twopence  exactly,  and  gin  ye  cud 
get  it  oot  o'  the  waefu'  wratch,  this  week,  a 'd 
sough  awa  easier.'  Milton  made  aff  withoot 
anither  word,  an'  the   bed  shook  ablow  Jamie." 

The  afflicted  patient  was  sitting  up  in  bed 
when  Doctor  Davidson  came  in,  and  would 
have  concealed  his  occupation  had  it  been 
possible  to  get  a  large  paper  kite  out  of  sight. 

"  It  's  for  Saunders's  laddie  at  Drumsheugh," 
he  apologised  ;  "  he  's  ane  o'  the  maist  impi- 
dent  an'  mischievous  smatchits  (little  fellow)  in 
the  Glen.  If  a'  didna  help  him  wi'  his  bit 
trokes  there  wudna  be  a  floor  left  in  ma 
gairden  ;  the  bairns  are  juist  the  trachle  o'  ma 
hfe." 


266  JAMIE 

"  Quite  so,  Jamie  ;  and  of  all  the  people  in 
the  Glen  there  's  nobody  you  like  so  well  and 
none  that  love  you  more.  The  more  you  scold 
them,  the  more  they  come  to  you.  As  for  the 
women,  you  Ve  been  criticising  them  for  a  gen- 
eration, and  now  they  're  all  fighting  for  the 
honour  of  nursing  you." 

"Havers,"  responded  Jamie,  "it's  juist  tae 
get  a  sicht  o'  the  inside  o'  a  weel-kept  hoose, 
and  tak  a  lesson  in  order,  though  a  '11  no  deny 
that  Elspeth  Macfadyen  an'  auld  Mary  hev 
been  verra  attentive,  as  weel  as  Bell  Baxter  an' 
Annie  Mitchell." 

"  It 's  just  a  pity,  Jamie,  that  so  good-hearted 
a  man  never  had  a  woman  of  his  own.  What 
set  you  against  marriage  ?" 

"  Wha  sed  a'  wes  against  merridge,  Doctor 
Davidson?"  and  Jamie's  face  flushed.  "Did 
ever  man  or  woman  hear  me  speak  lichtly  o' 
the  mystery  o'  luve  7  The  Glen  hes  thocht  me 
an  auld  cankered  bachelor,  an'  a  've  seen  a  lass 
leave  her  lad's  side  on  the  sicht  o'  me.  Little 
they  kent  !" 

No  man  knew  better  than  the  minister  when 
to  be  quiet,  and  the  ticking  of  Jamie's  big 
silver  watch  was  heard  throu";hout  the  kitchen. 


A   CYNIC'S   END  267 

"  Doctor  Davidson,  ye  'v'e  been  an  honest 
man  in  the  pulpit  an'  oot  o  't  a'  thae  years,  an' 
yir  warks  hev  aye  gane  afore  yir  words.  A  '11 
tell  ye  ma  secret  afore  a'  dee ;  ou  ay,  a*  ken 
a 'm  deein',  an'  a'm  rael  pleased. 

"  Ye  'ill  no  mind  that  forty-five  year  syne  a' 
workit  a  hale  winter  near  Kildrummie,  gaein' 
and  comin'  nicht  an'  mornin'. 

"  A'  met  ...  a  lassie  there,  an'  a'  cam  tae 
luve  her  aince  an'  for  ever.  No  that  a'  wud 
hae  spoken  tae  her,  for  a  've  been  an  ill-made, 
ill-tempered,  thrawn  body  a'  ma  days,  an'  she 
.  .  .  she  wes  as  gude  as  Marget  Hoo,  though 
different.     What  mair  can  man  say? 

"  The  day  ma  wark  wes  dune  a'  said  gude- 
bye  tae  her,  an'  that  micht  hae  been  the  end, 
but  a'  turned  sudden,  an'  a'  saw  the  luke  on 
her  face. 

"  She  cud  hae  taen  her  pick  o'  a'  the  lads 
roond  Kildrummie,  but  nae  man  can  lay  doon 
the  law  tae  luve  ;  she  .  .  .  tuke  me,  that  hed 
naething  but  a  faithfu'  hert,  an'  we  gied  oor 
word  ane  tae  the  ither  for  life  .  .  .  an'  deith,  as 
a  man  an'  wuman  sud  aifter  Christ's  comin'. 

"  We  cudna  be  mairrit  till  the  summer,  an' 
we   agreed    tae    write    nae    letters   tae  set  the 


268  JAMIE 

fouks'  tongues  gaein ;  we  wantit  tae  hae  oor 
ain  secret. 

"  So  we  trysted  tae  meet  aince  a  week  at  a 
stile  in  the  woods  atween  here  an'  Kildrummie, 
an'  we  hed  .  .  .  seeven  evenings  thegither;  that 
wes  a'  we  ever  saw  o'  ane  anither  in  this  warld, 

"  It  wes  the  month  o'  May  in  an  early  spring 
that  year,  and  the  leaves  were  oot  in  their 
bonnie  first  green,  an'  the  birds  were  busy  wi' 
their  nests,  an'  the  lambs  were  still  wi'  their 
mithers  in  the  field.  A'  nature  wes  glad  wi' 
us,  an'  blessed  oor  luve. 

"  The  gate  hes  fa'en  tae  pieces  lang  syne, 
and  the  gap's  built  up  wi'  a  dyke,  an'  the 
trees  are  cut  doon  an'  the  hawthorn  rooted  up, 
but  it 's  .  .  .  the  same  place  tae  me. 

"  A'  can  see  the  tree  where  we  sat,  an'  the 
primroses  at  oor  feet,  an'  the  sun  shinin'  on  her 
face,  an'  the  look  in  her  eyes  ;  a'  see  her  wavin* 
her  hand  tae  me  on  the  road  aifter  we  pairted, 
an'  the  glint  o'  her  goon  through  the  firs  the 
last  nicht. 

"  When  a'  cam  the  next  day  she  wesna  there, 
an'  a'  hoddit  amang  the  trees  for  a  ploy,  but  it 
wes  lang  waitin',  for  she  didna  come,  an'  a* 
cried  hame  wi'  fear  in  ma  hert. 


A   CYNIC'S    END  269 

"  It  micht  be  that  she  cudna  get  awa,  a'  said 
tae  mascl  as  a'  worked  at  a  dyke,  but  the  dread 
wes  hangin'  ower  mc,  an'  when  there  wes  nae- 
body  at  the  stile  the  next  nicht,  a'  cud  bide  nae 
langer. 

"  A'  set  aff  tae  her  hoose,  and  ilka  turn  o'  the 
road  a'  lookit  for  Menie.  Aince  ma  hert  loupit 
in  ma  briest  like  a  birdie  in  its  cage,  for  a  wum- 
man  cam  along  the  near  road  frae  Kildrummie, 
but  it  wesna  Menie. 

"  When  a'  saw  her  brither  wi'  his  face  tae 
Drumtochty  a'  kent,  afore  he  said  a  word,  that 
he  wes  seekin'  me,  an'  that  Menie  wes  dead. 
Never  a  tear  cam  that  day  tae  ma  een,  an'  he 
telt  me,  stannin'  in  the  middle  o'  the  road 
where  it  begins  tae  gae  doon  the  hill. 

"  '  It  wes  her  throat,  an'  the  doctor  wes  feared 
frae  the  first  day  ;  the  nicht  she  didna  come  she 
wes  carried  (delirious) ;  she  .  .  .  said  "  Jamie, 
Jamie,"  ower  an'  ower  again,  an'  wanted  tae 
rise. 

"  *  Aboot  daybreak  she  cam  tae  hersel,  and 
knew  oor  faces.  "A'm  deein',"  she  said, 
"  an*  a'  didna  keep  ma  tr^'st  last  nicht.  It '? 
ower  late  noo,  an'  a  '11  no  see  him  on  earth 
again. 


270  JAMIE 

" ' "  Tell  James  Soutar  that  it  wesna  ma 
blame  a'  failed,  an'  gie  him  ma  Bible,"  an'  a 
while  aifter  she  said,  "A '11  keep  the  tryst  \vi' 
him  some  day,"  an'  .  .  .  that  's  a'.' 

"  Her  brither  gied  me  the  book  an'  waited, 
expeckin'  me  tae  say  somethin',  but  a'  hed  nae 
words,  an'  he  left  me  on  the  road,  coontin'  me 
hard  o'  hert ;  a'  wes  a'  that  nicht  ...  at  the 
stile. 

"  Doctor,  Willi  ye  obleege  me  by  gaein'  tae 
that  cupboard  and  bringin'  me  ma  Sabbath 
hat?" 

Jamie  took  off  the  ring  of  crape,  thin  and 
faded  with  the  years,  and  held  it  for  a  moment 
in  his  hand. 

"  Pit  it  in  the  fire,  doctor,  whar  a'  can  see  it 
burn  ;  a  've  worn  it  forty-four  years  laist  spring, 
but  a  '11  no  need  it  again,  for  a  'm  gaein'  oot  o' 
mournin'  sune. 

"  Here  's  her  Bible,"  and  Jamie  brought  it 
from  a  shelf  in  his  box  bed  ;  "  gin  ye  come  tae 
ma  chestin'  (coffining),  wull  ye  see  it  be  pit  in  ? 
There  's  naethin'  else  a'  want  tae  cairry  wi'  me 
tae  the  ither  side,  an'  ...  a  '11  juist  bid  ye 
gude-bye,  doctor  ;  ye  're  an  honest  man  ootside 
an'  in." 


A   CYNIC'S   END  271 

"  Would  you  like  .  .  ."  said  the  doctor,  evi- 
dently moved. 

"  A'  wud  be  obleeged,"  and  Jamie  took  off 
his  night-cap. 

Doctor  Davidson  prayed  : 

"  Heavenly  Father,  who  only  art  the  source 
of  love  and  the  giver  of  every  good  gift,  v.e 
thank  Thee  for  the  love  wherewith  the  soul  of 
Thy  servant  clave  unto  this  woman  as  Jacob 
unto  Rachel,  which  many  years  have  not 
quenched.  Remember  the  faithfulness  of  this 
true  heart,  and  disappoint  not  its  expectation. 
May  the  tryst  that  was  broken  on  earth  be  kept 
in  heaven,  and  be  pleased  to  give  Thy  .  .  . 
give  Jamie  a  good  home-coming.     Amen." 

"  Thank  ye,  doctor ;  ye  've  said  what  I 
wantit,  an'  ...  it  wes  kind  o'  ye  tae  pit  in 
Jamie,"  and  his  hand  came  out  from  the  bed 
for  a  last  grasp.  He  watched  the  minister  go, 
and  when  Elspeth  returned  he  said,  "  Yon  's  a 
richt  man." 

The  upland  children  returning  home  from 
school  in  the  afternoon  came  to  the  cottage 
door,  and  Jamie,  who  had  been  dozing,  heard 
their  whispering. 

"  There  's  some  o'  thae  prodigals  oot  there  in 


272  JAMIE 

the  gairden  ;  bring  them  in,  Elspeth,  or  a'  give 
them  a  hearin' ;  they  've  juist  been  the  torment 
o'  ma  life." 

They  came  in  warily,  as  those  who  had  some 
experience  of  former  tricks,  but  there  was  no 
fear  even  among  the  girls.  Had  it  not  been 
known  how  Jamie  detested  children,  you  would 
have  imagined  that  he  had  been  their  play- 
mate. 

"  The  warst  laddie  o'  the  lot,"  and  Jamie 
seemed  to  be  speaking  to  the  ceiling  of  his  bed, 
''  is  Tammie  Baxter.  It  's  maist  aggravatin' 
that  he  sud  leave  a  lairge  paper  kite  in  a  sick 
body's  bed,  an'  me  wantin'  tae  turn  roond." 

The  kite  projected  itself  forward  from  dark 
recesses  in  all  its  glory  of  many  and  very  loud 
colours. 

"  It 's  rael  bonnie,"  was  all  that  Tammie 
offered  by  way  of  thanks,  as  he  took  possession 
of  his  prize  amid  general  envy, 

"  A'  wudna  say  but  there  micht  be  sugar- 
candy  in  the  cupboard,"  continued  Jamie  in  a 
soliloquy,  and  a  rush  for  the  door  was  stayed. 

"Annie  Mitchell  'ill  divide  it  fair,  an'  a 'm 
expeckin'  a  kiss." 

•'Are  ye  near  weel?"  she  said,  when  the  debt 


A   CYNIC'S   END  273 

was  paid  after  a  generous  fashion.  "  Mither 
wants  tae  ken." 

"  Tell  her  a  'm  juist  gettin'  on  fine,  an'  a  '11 
be  a'  richt  in  twa  or  three  days." 

Elspeth  reported  the  proceedings  with  the 
kite,  and  Jamie  was  full  of  anxiety. 

"  Tell  Tammie  tae  pit  on  a  heavier  clod  and 
keep  tuggin',"  till  a  shout  came  in  through  the 
door. 

"  It  's  near  oot  o'  sicht,"  and  then  Jamie  was 
at  peace. 

''  Bairns  are  an'  awfu'  trachle  (trouble),"  he 
moralised  ;  "  a'  canna  mak  oot  hoo  fouk  pit  up 
wi'  them  ;  that  lassie  Mitchell  is  juist  a  hempie," 

Next  morning  Jamie  declined  conversation, 
and  lay  to  all  appearance  unconscious,  so  that 
when  the  Free  Kirk  minister  came,  between 
whom  and  Jamie  there  had  been  a  special 
friendship  since  the  day  Carmichael  had  de- 
clared his  conviction  on  Posty's  future  state, 
Elspeth  led  him  in  on  tip-toe  and  spoke  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Ou  aye,  a'  kent  ye  wud  be  concerned,  for 
you  an'  he  were  chief  (friendly)  ;  he  's  been  this 
wy  a'  day,  naither  better  nor  worse ;  juist 
leevin"  that 's  a' ;  he  'ill  never  speak  again." 


£74  JAMIE 

"  I  have  been  at  the  Glasgow  sacrament," 
and  Carmichael  went  over  to  the  fire-place ; 
"  else  I  would  have  come  up  before.  Jamie 
has  always  been  very  kind  to  me.  It  's  sad 
to  see  him  lying  there  speechless,  who  had  the 
cleverest  tongue  in  the  Glen." 

"  Ay,  ay,  he  's  past  speech  noo  ;  he  hears 
naething." 

"  Wes  't  a  vawcancy  ye  were  preachin'  in,"  a 
loud,  clear  voice  proceeded  from  the  bed,  "  or 
juist  helpin'  a  freend  ?  " 

"Preserve's  a'  body  an'  soul,"  cried  Els- 
peth  ;  and  Carmichael  himself  was  shaken. 

"  We  thought  you  were  unconscious,  Jamie  ; 
I  'm  glad  you  can  still  take  an  interest  in 
things." 

"  There  's  been  a  gey  lot  o'  havers  (nonsense) 
gaein'  in  this  hoose  the  laist  twal  'oors,  but  a* 
didna  let  on  ;  na,  na,  a'  enjoyed  it." 

Kirsty  Stewart  came  to  share  the  night 
watch  with  Elspeth,  but  neither  presumed  till 
nearly  daybreak,  when  Kirsty  declared,  with 
the  just  weight  of  her  medical  authority,  that 
all  was  over. 

"  He  lies  the  look,  an'  his  hands  are  as  cold 
as  ice  ;  feel  his  feet,  wumman." 


A    CYNIC'S    END  275 

"  A'  canna  find  them,"  said  Elspeth,  making 
timid  explorations. 

"  They  used  tae  be  on  the  end  o'  ma  legs," 
remarked  Jamie,  as  if  uncertain  where  they 
might  now  be  placed. 

Elspeth  started  back  and  looked  at  him,  but 
his  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  gave  no  other 
sign  of  consciousness. 

"  A '11  no  meddle  wi'  him  again,"  said  Els- 
peth, solemnly,  "  though  a'  sit  here  for  a  week ; 
he  's  a  queer  body,  Jamie  ;  he  gied  his  ain  wy 
a'  his  life,  an'  tak  ma  word  for't,  Kirsty,  he  'ill 
hae  his  ain  wy  o'  deein'." 

When  the  first  ray  shot  through  the  window 
and  trembled  on  the  bed,  Jamie  raised  himself 
and  listened.  He  shaded  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  as  if  he  were  watching  for  some  one  and 
could  not  see  clearly  for  excess  of  light. 

"  Menie,"  he  cried  suddenly,  with  a  new 
voice,  "  a  've  keepit  oor  tryst." 

When  they  laid  him  in  the  cofifin — the  Bible 
in  his  hands — the  smile  was  still  on  his  face, 
and  he  appeared  a  man  some  forty  years  of 
age. 


A    SERVANT    LASS 


HOW   SHE  WENT   OUT 

Mary  Robertson's  brave  fight  to  bring  up 
her  orphaned  grandchildren  had  won  her  the 
silent  respect  of  the  Glen,  and  when  it  was  re- 
ported that  Lily  had  obtained  a  place  in  Lon- 
don, and  would  leave  in  three  weeks,  the  fathers 
gave  themselves  to  the  incident  on  all  its  sides. 

"  Nae  wumman  in  the  pairish  hes  dune  her 
duty  better  than  Mary,"  said  Drumsheugh, 
with  authority.  "  She  's  been  an  example 
tae  every  man  o  's.  It 's  auchteen  year  laist 
Martinmas  sin'  her  dochter's  man  ran  aff  and 
his  puir  wife  came  hame  tae  dee,  leavin'  her 
mother  wi'  the  chairge  o'  sax  young  bairns. 

"  '  Ye  canna  dae  't  withoot  help,  Mary,'  says  I 
tae  her :  '  ye  'ill  need  a  bit  allooance  frae  the 
pairish,  an'  a  '11  get  it  for  ye  next  Boord.  A 
shilling  a  week  ilka  bairn  'ill  gang  a  lang  wy  in 
yir  hands.' 

"  '  Thank  ye,  Drumsheugh.'  She  wes  standing 


28o  A    SERVANT    LASS 

at  her  gate,  and  drew  herself  upstraicht.  '  An' 
a'  the  neeburs  hev  been  freendly  ;  but  there  's 
never  been  ane  o'  ma  bluid  on  the  pairish,  an' 
there  never  wull  be  sae  lang  as  the  Ahnichty 
leaves  me  ma  reason  and  twa  airms. 

"  '  Mary  had  a  puir  Hfe  o  't,  an'  she  deed  o'  the 
disgrace  her  man  pit  on  her.  "  A  'm  gaein'  awa," 
she  said  tae  me,  "  an'  a  've  juist  ae  thing  tae 
ask,  mither ;  dinna  lat  the  bairns  gae  on  the 
pairish  ;  bring  them  up  tae  wark  and  tae  respeck 
themsels."  A'  gied  her  ma  word,  an'  a  'II  keep 
it.'  She  lookit  graund,  fouks,"  wound  up 
Drumsheugh. 

"  She  's  rael  Drumtochty,  is  Mary,"  remarked 
Jamie  Soutar ;  "  fordoonricht  pride  an'  thraun- 
ness  ye  'ill  no  get  their  marra  in  Scotland. 
What  for  did  she  no  tak  the  allooance  ?  She 
wud  hae  been  a  gude  few  notes  the  better  a* 
thae  years  :  mony  an  'oor's  wark  she  micht  hae 
spared  hersel'. 

"  Noo  gin  Mary  hed  been  a  wumman  wi'  a 
proper  speerit  o'  humility  and  kent  her  place, 
she  wud  hae  gruppit  a'  she  cud  get,  and  beggit 
frae  the  neeburs,  an'  gotten  on  better  than  ever. 
But  if  she  didna  sit  up  at  nicht  makin'  the  bairns' 
claithes,  and  wark  in  the  fields  a'  day  tae  earn 


HOW   SHE    WENT    OUT  281 

their  schuUng,  an'  a'  tae  keep  her  indepen- 
dence, as  they  ca  't.  A  've  seen  Mary  come 
intae  kirk  wi'  the  sax  bairns  afore  her,  an'  she 
cudna  hae  cairried  her  head*  higher  hed  she 
been  the  Coontess  o'  Kilspindie. 

"A'm  judgin'  this  kind  o' speerit 's  in  the 
verra  air  o'  the  Glen,  for  there  's  juist  twa  auld 
weemen  on  the  pairish  ;  ane  o'  them  's  blind, 
the  ither  's  had  a  stroke ;  naither  o'  them  hes  a 
freend,  an'  baith  o'  them  murn  every  day  they 
canna  wark." 

"  Mary  's  an  able  wumman,"  broke  in  Hil- 
locks, who  was  much  given  to  practical  detail ; 
*'  a  've  seen  her  hens  layin'  in  the  dead  o'  win- 
ter, and  she  ned  a  coo,  a'  mind,  'at  gied  half  as 
muckle  milk  again  as  ony  coo  in  oor  toon.  As 
for  plannin',  she  got  ma  Sunday  blacks  when 
they  were  gey  far  through  wi 't,  an'  gin  she 
didna  juist  mak  a  jacket  for  Chairlie  'at  did  him 
for  ten  year;  a  'm  dootin'  she  hes  tae  pay  for 
him  yet :  he  *s  no  the  help  he  micht  hae  been 
as  far  as  a'  can  mak  oot ;  eh,  Drumsheugh  ?" 

"  Gin  it  wesna  for  him   daein'   naethin'  and 

livin'  on  his  faimily.  Hillocks,  Lily  micht  stay 

wi'  her  grannie,  an'  keep  Mary  comfortable  in 

her  auld  age.     But  they  aye  cover  him,  baith 

T 


282  A   SERVANT    LASS 

his  grannie  and  his  sister,  till  ye  wud  think 
there  wes  never  a  better-daein'  lad  gied  oot  o' 
the  Glen.  Whatever  they  say  among  themsels, 
they 'ill  no  say  a*word  ootside." 

What  they  did  say  in  Mary  Robertson's  cot- 
tage that  evening  was  sad  enough. 

"  Weel,  weel,  lassie,  there  wes  sax  tae  begin 
wi',  an'  twa  died  o'  the  dipthery — eh,  but 
Doctor  Maclure  wes  kind  that  time- — and  twa 
mairried  and  gied  awa,  an'  Chairlie  ...  in 
Ameriky,  an'  there  's  juist  yersel  left,  and  I  wes 
trustin'  ye  wud  stay  wi'  yir  auld  grannie  an' 
close  her  een." 

"  Dinna  speak  that  foolish  wy,  grannie,"  but 
Lily's  voice  had  a  break  in  it.  "  \^e  're  lookin' 
fresher  than  mony  a  young  wumman,  an'  ye 
ken  a  'm  tae  get  hame  at  a  time,  maybe  ilka 
three  year." 

"  It 's  a  lang  road,  Lily,  tae  Lunnon,  an'  ill 
tae  traivel ;  a'  may  be  dead  and  buried  afore  ye 
come  back,  an'  a  '11  be  terrible  lonely,  juist  like 
a  bird  when  the  young  anes  are  ta'en  awa." 

"  Gin  ye  say  anither  word  a  '11  fling  up  ma 
place,  an'  never  gang  intae  service  ava  ;  it  *s  no 
ma  wush  tae  leave  the  Glen  an*  gang  sae  far 
f  "ae  hame.     But  we  maun  py  the  man  in  Muir- 


HOW    SHE   WENT    OUT  283 

town  what  Chairlie  borrowed,  else  oor  name  'ill 
be  disgraced." 

"  It 's  disgraced  eneuch  already  with  sic  a  use- 
less fellow  ;  he  's  his  faither  ower  again — a  fair 
face,  a  weel-dressed  back,  a  cunning  tongue,  an' 
a  fause  heart.  There  's  no  a  drop  o'  Robert- 
son bluid  in  him,  lassie  ;  there  's  times  a'  wish 
he  was  dead,"  and  Mary's  voice  trembled  with 
passion. 

"  Wisht,  wisht,  grannie  ;  he  's  mither's  only 
son,  an'  she  wes  prood  o'  him,  a  've  heard  ye 
say,  an'  he  'ill  maybe  mend  ;  div  ye  ken  a'  wes 
juist  imaginin'  that  he  set  tae  work  and  githered 
a  lot  o'  siller,  an'  paid  back  a'  ye  hae  dune  for 
him. 

"  Ye  'ill  no  be  angry,  but  a'  telt  Marget  Hoo 
ae  day  aboot  oor  tribble  an'  ma  houp  o'  Chair- 
lie — for  ye  canna  look  at  Marget  an'  no  want 
tae  unburden  yersel — an'  she  said,  '  Dinna  be 
ashamed  o'  yir  dreams,  Lily ;  they  'ill  a*  come 
true  some  day,  for  we  canna  think  better  than 
God  wull  dae.'  " 

"  Marget  Hoo  is  nearer  the  heart  o'  things 
than  onybody  in  the  Glen,  an'  a  'm  prayin'  she 
may  be  richt.  Get  the  bukes  ;  it  's  time  for  oor 
readin'."     And  Mary  asked  that  "  the  heart  o' 


284  A    SERVANT    LASS 

him  that  wes  far  awa  micht  be  turned  tae  gude- 
ness,  an'  that  he  micht  be  a  kind  brother  to  his 
sister." 

No  girl  had  gone  to  service  in  London  be- 
fore, and  the  Glen  took  a  general  interest  in 
Lily's  outfit.  The  wricht  made  her  kist  of 
sound,  well-seasoned  wood,  and  the  Glen,  look- 
ing in  from  time  to  time,  highly  approved  of 
its  strength  and  security.  Sandie  was  particu- 
larly proud  of  an  inner  compartment  which  he 
had  contrived  with  much  ingenuity,  and  which 
was  secured  by  a  padlock  whose  key  defied  imi- 
tation. 

"  Noo,  you  see,  if  ony  ill-conditioned  wratch 
got  intae  the  kist,  he  micht  get  a  goon  or  a 
jaicket,  but  he  wudna  be  able  tae  titch  her 
siller.  Na,  na,  what  she  wins  she  keeps ;  ma 
certes,  that  boxie  'ill  beat  them," 

"Ye  ken  what  ye 're  aboot,  wricht,"  said 
Hillocks,  who  felt  that  one  going  to  distant 
parts  could  hardly  take  too  many  precautions, 
"an*  ye 've  turned  oot  a  wise-like  kist;  sail, 
Lily,  'ill  dae  weel  gin  she  fill  it." 

Concerning  the  filling  long  and  anxious  con- 
sultations were  held  in  Mary's  kitchen,  and 
Elspeth  Macfadyen  was  called  in  as  a  specialist, 


HOW   SHE   WENT   OUT  285 

because  she  had  been  once  in  service  herself,  and 
because  her  sister  was  cook  in  the  house  of  the 
Provost  of  Muirtown. 

"  We  maunna  gang  a  saxpencc  intae  debt," 
and  Mary  laid  down  preliminary  conditions, 
"  an'  a'thing  sud  be  genuine,  in  an'  oot — nae 
show  on  the  back  and  poverty  ablow  ;  that  's 
puir  cleidin'  (clothing)  for  Christian  fouk." 

"  Lily  's  savit  aucht  pund  at  the  Lodge,  an'  a' 
can  spare  twa  or  three.  How  mony  dresses  an' 
sic-like  'ill  she  need  tae  begin  respectable,  for 
the  hoose  an'  the  kirk?  ' 

"  Lily  'ill  need  twa  prints  for  certain,  an'  ae 
black  dress  for  the  house,  an'  anither  dress  for 
gaein'  oot  tae  kirk  or  tae  see  her  freends.  She 
wud  be  better  o'  a  third  print  an'  a  second  oot- 
side  goon — for  a  bit  change,  ye  ken.  Then  she 
maun  hae  a  bonnet  for  Sabbath  an'  a  hat  tae 
gae  oot  a  message  in  forby.  The  ither  things 
she  'ill  hae  already,"  for  Elspeth  had  been  go- 
ing over  the  matter  carefully  for  weeks  ;  "  ye 
'ill  be  getting  her  things  at  Muirtown,  an'  a  '11 
be  gled  to  gie  ye  ony  help  in  ma  poor." 

Three  hours  did  they  spend  next  Friday  in 
the  Muirtown  shop,  examining,  selecting,  calcu- 
lating, till  Lily's  humble   outfit  was  complete 


286  A  SERVANT  LASS  ' 

and  Elspeth's  full  list  overtaken,  save  the  third 
print  and  a  merino  gown  on  Avhich  Mary  had 
set  her  heart. 

"  We  haena  the  means,"  and  Mary  went  over 
the  figures  again  on  her  fingers,  "an'  sae  ye 
maun  juist  wait.  Gin  the  price  o'  butter  keeps 
up,  ye  'ill  hae  them  afore  the  New  Year,  an' 
a  '11  send  them  up  in  a  bit  parcel.  .  .  . 
Havers,  what  sud  a'  stairve  masel  for?  nae  fear 
o'  that ;  but  keep  's  a,  what 's  Drumsheugh  aif- 
ter  here?  " 

"  Hoo  are  ye  a'  the  day?"  said  the  great 
man,  fresh  from  a  victory  over  a  horse-dealer, 
in  w^hich  he  had  wrested  a  price  beyond  the 
highest  expectation  of  Drumtochty ;  "can  ye 
gie  me  a  hand  wi'  twa  or  three  bit  trokes,  Els- 
peth?"  and  the  two  disappeared  into  the  re- 
cesses of  the  shop. 

"  A'  heard  ye  were  here,  an'  a'  wes  wonderin* 
hoo  the  siller  wes  haudin'  oot ;  naebody  daur 
offer  half-a-croon  tae  Mary;  but  she  michtna 
mind  Lily  gettin'  a  bit  present  frae  a  neebur, 
juist  tae  hansel  her  new  kist,  ye  ken,"  and 
Drumsheugh  pressed  two  notes  into  Elspeth's 
hands,  and  escaped  from  the  strange  place  by  a 
side  door.     When  the  parcel  was  opened  that 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT  287 

evening,  for  the  joy  of  going  over  its  contents, 
Mary  turned  on  Elspeth  in  fierce  wrath. 

"  What  did  ye  dae  this  for,  Elspeth  Macfad- 
yen?  an'  behind  ma  back.  Ye  ken  a'  didna 
pay  for  thae  twa,  and  that  a  'U  no  tak  an  ounce 
o'  tea  let  alane  twa  goons  withoot  payment. 
Pit  the  goons  up,  Lily,  an'  a  '11  gie  them  back 
the  mornin',  though  a'  hae  tac  walk  the  hale 
twal  mile  tae  Muirtown." 

"  Dinna  be  sae  hysty,  Mary."  Elspeth  was 
provokingly  calm.  "  Ye  needna  be  feared  that 
Drumsheugh  didna  pay  for  his  order,  and  if  he 
wanted  tae  gie  the  lassie  a  fairin',  a'  see  nae  use 
in  flinging  it  back  in  his  face  ;  but  ye  maunna 
lat  on  tae  himsel  for  the  warld,  or  tell  a  livin' 
soul." 

When  Lily's  box  was  packed  on  Thursday 
evening,  her  grandmother  would  have  slipped  in 
all  the  household  treasures  that  could  be  intro- 
duced between  layers  of  soft  goods,  and  sent 
the  eight-day  clock  had  it  been  a  suitable 
equipment  for  a  young  woman  entering  service 
in  London.  The  box  was  taken  down  to  Kil- 
drummie  station  in  one  of  Drumsheugh's  carts, 
padded  round  with  straw  lest  the  paint  be 
scratched,  but  Hillocks  came  with  his  dog-cart 


288  A  SERVANT  LASS 

and  drove  Lily  down  in  state,  carrying  in  her 
right  hand  a  bunch  of  flowers  from  Jamie  Sou- 
tar's  garden,  and  in  the  other  a  basket  contain- 
ing a  comb  of  honey  left  by  Posty,  without 
remark,  a  dozen  eggs  from  Burnbrae,  and  two 
pounds  of  perfect  butter  from  Mary's  hand. 
These  were  intended  as  a  friendly  offering  from 
the  Glen  to  Lily's  new  household  that  she 
might  not  appear  empty-handed,  but  the  pep- 
permints that  filled  her  pocket  were  for  her- 
self, and  the  white  milk  scones  on  the  top  of 
the  bag,  with  a  bottle  of  milk,  were  to  sustain 
Lily  on  the  long  journey.  Mary  shook  hands 
with  Lily  twice,  once  at  the  cottage  door  and 
again  after  she  had  taken  her  place  beside  Hil- 
locks, but  Mary  did  not  kiss  Lily,  for  whom 
she  would  have  died,  and  whom  she  did  not  ex- 
pect to  see  again  in  this  life ;  nor  were  their 
farewell  words  affecting. 

"  See  that  ye  hae  yir  box  richt  libelled,  Lily, 
an'  ye  'ill  need  tae  watch  it  at  the  junctions  ; 
keep  the  basket  wi'  the  eggs  in  yir  hands,  for 
fear  somebody  sits  on  't  ;  an',  Lily,  wumman, 
for  ony  sake  hand  yir  goon  aff  the  wheel  when 
ye  're  gettin'  doon  at  Kildrummie.  Is  't  com- 
in'  tae  a  shoor,  Hillocks?" 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT  289 

"A*  wudna  say  but  there  micht  be  a  scowie 
afore  nicht ;  it  'ill  freshen  the  neeps  fine."  And 
so  Lily  departed. 

"  But  Mary  went  to  a  knowe  that  command- 
ed the  road,  and  watched  Hillocks's  dogcart 
cross  Tochty  bridge  and  go  up  the  other  side 
till  it  disappeared  into  the  dark  fir  woods  on 
the  ridge.  Then  she  went  back  to  the  kitchen, 
where  everything  spoke  of  her  girl,  and  sat 
down  by  the  lonely  fireside  and  wept. 

It  was  a  curious  coincidence  that  Jamie  Sou- 
tar  had  some  "  troke  "  in  Muirtown  that  day, 
and  travelled  in  the  same  carriage  with  Lily, 
beguiling  her  from  sorrow  with  quaint  stories 
and  indirect  shrewd  advice.  As  he  was  rather 
early  for  his  business,  he  had  nothing  better  to 
do  than  see  Lily  off  by  the  London  express, 
adding  to  her  commissariat  a  package  of  sweets 
from  the  refreshment  room,  and  an  illustrated 
paper  from  the  bookstall.  He  shambled  along 
beside  her  carriage  to  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
platform,  and  the  last  thing  Lily  Grant  saw  as 
she  went  forth  into  a  strange  land  was  Jamie 
waving  his  hand.  It  showed  that  the  old 
man's  memory  was  beginning  to  fail  that,  in- 
stead of  going  down  to  the  town,  he  went  back 


2ijo  A   SERVANT   LASS 

by  the  midday  train  to  Kildrummie,  giving 
Mary  a  cry  in  the  evening,  and  assuring  her 
that  Lily  was  so  far  on  her  journey  in  "  graund 
heart." 

It  was  covenanted  between  them  that  Lily 
should  send  Mary  a  "  scrape  o'  the  pen "  on 
arrival — as  an  assurance  that  she  was  safe,  and 
the  eggs — and  should  write  in  a  while  at  full 
length,  when  she  had  settled  down  to  her  work 
and  found  a  kirk.  The  Glen  waited  for  this 
letter  with  expectation,  and  regarded  it  as 
common  property,  so  that  when  Posty  deliv- 
ered it  to  Mary  he  sat  down  without  invitation, 
and  indicated  that  he  was  ready  to  receive  any 
titbits  she  might  offer  for  his  use. 

"  Lily 's  keepin'  her  health,  but  she 's  no 
awfu'  ta'en  up  wi'  the  climate  o*  London  ;  wud 
ye  believe  it,  they  hae  the  gas  lichtit  by  two 
o'clock  in  the  aifternoon,  an'  the  fog  's  eneuch 
tae  smoor  ye  ;  it 's  no  veecious  cauld  though." 

"  There 's  waur  things  than  cauld,"  said 
Posty,  who  had  started  that  morning  in  twenty 
degrees  of  frost ;  "  is  she  wearyin'  ?" 

"  Whiles  a  'm  dootin',  puir  lassie  ;  when  she 
lies  half  an  'oor  tae  hersel,  she  gaes  up  tae 
her   room    and    taks  oot  a  pokie  (bag)  o'  rose 


HOW    SHE   WENT    OUT  291 

leaves  we  dried  in  the  simmer.  The  smell  o' 
them  brings  up  oor  bit  gairden  and  me  stan- 
nin',  as  plain  as  day,  at  the  door.  Fouk  tak 
notions,  a  've  heard,  when  they  're  far  frae 
hame,"  added  Mary,  by  way  of  apology. 

"Ay,  ay,"  and  Posty  looked  steadily  from 
him. 

"  It 's  eatin'  an'  drinkin'  frae  mornin'  till 
nicht,  Lily  says ;  an'  the  verra  servants  hae 
meat  three  times  a  day,  wi'  beer  tae  their  din- 
ner. An'  the  wyste  cowes  a' ;  she  says  Elspeth 
Macfadyen  wud  get  her  livin*  frae  amang  their 
feet." 

"A'  dinna  think  muckle  o'  beer,"  observed 
Posty  ;  "  there  's  nae  fusion  in  't ;  naither  heat 
for  the  stamach  nor  shairpness  for  the  intel- 
leck." 

"A  set  o'  extravagant  hizzies,"  continued 
Mary;  "fur  on  their  jaickets,  like  leddies,  an' 
no  a  penny  in  the  bank.  The  meenut  they  get 
their  wages,  aff  tae  spend  them  on  finery.  Ane 
o'  them  borrowed  five  shillings  frae  Lily  tae 
get  her  boots  soled." 

"Lord's  sake,  that's  no  cannie,"  and  Posty 
awoke  to  the  dangers  that  beset  a  young  girl's 
path   in   the  great   Babylon;  "tell   Lily,  what- 


292  A   SERVANT   LASS 

ever   she    dis,    tae   keep    her   haud    o'  her   sil- 

1>> 
er. 

"  Ye  're  richt  there,  Posty.     Lily  's  juist  ower 

saft-hearted,  and  she  hes  a  gey  lot  o'  trimmies 

tae   deal   wi'.     Wud   ye    credit  it,  ilka  ane    o' 

them  hes  *  Miss  '  on  her  letters,  an'  gin  freends 

come    tae    see   them    they  maun  ask  for  Miss 

this  an'  that ;  a'  pit  'Lily  Grant,    Hoosemaid,' 

on  ma  letters." 

"  Ye  're    wrang    there,    Mary,"    interrupted 

Posty;  "  what  for  sud  ye  ca'  doon   yir  ain,  an' 

her  sic  a  fine   lassie  ?     Ma  opeenion   is  that  a 

Drumtochty  wufnman  hes  as  gude  a  richt  tae 

Miss   as   her   neeburs.     Sail,  gin    a'    catch   ye 

sendin'  aff   anither   'Lily,'   a '11    whup    in   the 

Miss  masel;  but  is  there  nae  word  aboot  the 

kirks?"  for  Posty  felt  that  these  trifling  details 

were    keeping    them    from    the    heart    of   the 

matter. 

"  A  'm  comin'  tae  that,  an'  it  's  worth  hear- 
in',  for  the  ignorance  o'  thae  London  fouk  is 
by  ordinar.  When  she  askit  the  near  road  tae 
the  kirk,  naebody  in  the  hoose  cud  tell  her 
whether  it  wes  east  or  wast." 

Posty  wagged  his  head  in  pity. 

"  So  she  gied  oot  and  fell  in   wi'  a  poHsman, 


HOW   SHE   WENT   OUT  293 

an'  as  luck  wud  hae  it,  he  wes  a  Scotchman. 
*  Come  awa,  lassie,'  he  said  ;  '  a'  see  whar  ye  're 
frae ;  it 's  a  mercy  ye  didna  fa'  intae  the  hands 
o'  some  of  ma  neeburs ;  they  micht  hae  sent  ye 
aff  tae  the  Methodies,  an'  they  wud  hae  gien 
ye  a  fricht  wi'  cryin'  Hallelujah.'  " 

"  A  graund  body  for  a'  that,"  interpolated 
Posty,  "  but  clean  astray  on  the  decrees," 

"  *  Yonder  's  the  place,'  says  he,  '  an'  ye  pit 
yir  collection  in  a  plate  at  the  door — there  's 
nae  ladles — but  there 's  a  couthie  wumman 
keeps  the  door  in  the  gallery,  an'  she  'ill  gie  ye 
a  seat.* 

*'  She  kent  it  wes  her  ain  place  when  she  saw 
a  properly  ordained  minister  in  the  pulpit,  wi' 
his  black  goon  and  bonnie  white  bands  ;  and 
when  they  started  the  Hundredth  Psalm,  her 
heart  cam  intae  her  mooth,  an'  she  cudna  sing 
a  word." 

"Wes  there  an  organ.'"  demanded  Posty, 
with  the  manner  of  one  who  has  a  duty  to  per- 
form, and  must  be  on  his  guard  against  senti- 
ment. 

"  A  '11  no  tell  ye  a  lee,  Posty,  there  wes,  an' 
of  coorse  Lily  didna  like  it,  but  she  wes  terri- 
ble pleased  wi'  the  sermon.     As  for  the  organ, 


294  A   SERVANT   LASS 

it  juist  boomilled  awa,  an'  she  never  lat  on  she 
heard  it." 

"  Dis  she  gie  the  texts  an'  diveesions  ?  "  and 
Posty  smacked  his  Hps. 

"  It  's  no  Hkely  she  wud  forget  that,  aifter 
gaein*  ower  them  ilka  Sabbath  nicht  here  sin 
she  wes  a  wee  bairnie.  '  Faith  without  works 
is  dead,'  James,  ye  ken." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  cried  Posty,  impatiently ;  "  a 
testin'  text  ;  ye  cudna  hae  a  better  tae  jidge  a 
a  man  by  ;  hoo  wes  't  handled  ?" 

"Three  heads.  First,  'True  religion  is  a 
principle  in  the  soul ' — Posty  nodded,  '  that 's 
faith.'  Second,  '  It  is  a  practice  in  the  life  ' — 
'  warks,'  murmured  Posty,  Third,  '  Without  a 
principle  in  the  soul,  there  can't  be  a  practice 
in  the  life.'  " 

"  A'  see  naethin'  wrang  there,  Mary  ;  it 's 
maybe  no  verra  oreeginal,  but  that  's  naither 
here  nor  there  ;  gin  ye  stand  on  yir  head  ye 
can  aye  see  a  new  glen;  it  wis  soond  an'  in- 
structive. Did  he  titch  on  Paul  and  James  ? 
he  wud  be  sure  tae  be  reconcilin'  them,  gin  he 
be  ablow  forty." 

"  That 's  a'  she  writes  on  the  sermon,  but 
she  gied  intae  the  vestry  wi'  her  lines,  an'   the 


HOW   SHE   WENT   OUT  295 

minister  wes  rael  kind  tae  her  when  he  heard 
her  tongue. 

"  His  English  sHppit  aff  in  a  meenut,  an*  oot 
cam  the  auld  tongue ;  he 's  a  Perthshire  man 
himsel,  though  frae  the  sooth  end,  an'  his 
wife's  second  cousin  is  merried  tae  the  minister 
o'  Kildrummie's  brother,  so  ye  micht  say  he 
wes  conneckit  wi'  Drumtochty. 

"  He  telt  her  tae  coont  him  a  freend  noo 
that  she  wes  amang  strangers,  an'  tae  send  for 
him  in  tribble,  an'  Lily  declares  that  she  gaed 
back  that  mornin'  wi'  her  heart  fu'  of  comfort 
an'  gledness.  So  ye  may  tell  the  neeburs  that 
Lily 's  daein'  weel  in  London.  She  sends 
her  respects  tae  Drumsheugh,  and  ye 'ill  say 
tae  Jamie  Soutar  that  Lily  wes  askin'  for 
him." 

When  Posty  departed,  Mary  read  the  last 
part  of  Lily's  letter  slovdy  to  herself. 

"  The  minister's  prayer  took  in  a'  kinds  o' 
fouk,  an'  ae  peteetion,  a'  thocht,  wes  for  us, 
grannie  :  '  Remember  any  one  about  whom  his 
friends  are  anxious '--and  he  stopped  for  half  a 
meenut.  Ye  cud  hae  heard  a  preen  (pin)  fall, 
an*  a'  said  tae  masel,  '  Chairlie.' 

"  Dinna  be  ower  cast  doon  aboot  him,  nor 


296  A   SERVANT    LASS 

gie  up  houp ;  he 's  young  an'  thochtless,  an' 
he  'ill  maybe  tak  a  turn  sune. 

"A  've  savi't  five  pund  aff  ma  wages,  an' 
a  'm  sendin  *t  in  a  note,  for  a'  didna  want  the 
fouk  at  the  post-office  tae  ken  oor  affairs. 

"  Noo,  gin  ye  be  writin'  Chairlie,  will  ye  slip 
in  a  pund  juist  as  a  bit  reminder  o'  his  sister, 
an'  the  ither  fower  'ill  help  tae  py  the  Muir- 
town  debt. 

"  Dinna  think  a  *m  scrimpin'  masel  or  daein' 
onything  mean.  Aifter  a  've  spent  sax  pund 
a  year  on  claithes  and  little  trokes,  and  three 
on  ma  kirk,  a  '11  hae  aucht  ower  for  the  debt. 

"  When  the  laist  penny 's  paid  o'  Chairlie's 
debt  a  '11  buy  the  best  black  silk  in  London  for 
ye ;  an'  gin  a  'm  spared  tae  come  hame  tae 
the  summer  Sacrament,  we  'ill  gang  thegithef 
tae  the  table." 

"  Twa  silly  weemen,"  said  Mary  to  herself, 
"  for  he  's  juist  a  ne'er-dae-weel  ...  an'  yet, 
gin  he  cam  in  noo,  a'  wud  gie  him  the  claithes 
aff  ma  back,  an'  sae  wud  Lily.  For  the  look  in 
his  een  an'  the  soon'  o'  his  voice." 


II 

HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME 

When  Jamie  Soutar  dropped  into  the  smithy 
one  spring  evening  with  an  impracticable  pad- 
lock, and  mentioned  casually  that  he  was  going 
to  London  next  day,  the  assembled  neighbours 
lost  power  of  speech. 

"  Did  ye  say  London,  Jamie?"  Hillocks  was 
understood  to  have  shown  great  presence  of 
mind  in  unparalleled  circumstances  ;  "  an'  are 
ye  in  yir  senses  ?" 

"As  sune  as  ye  recover  yir  strength,  smith," 
said  Jamie,  taking  no  notice  of  fatuous  ques- 
tions, "  a  '11  be  obleeged  gin  ye  wud  turn  the 
key  in  this  lock  It  's  a  wee  dour  tae  manage  ; 
a'  hevna  used  ma  bag  sin  a'  gaed  tae  the  saut 
water  saxteen  year  past." 

"  Did  ye  ever  hear  the  like  ?"  and  the  smith 

looked  round  the  circle  for  support,  refusing  to 

treat  Jamie's  demand  as  an  ordinary  matter  of 

business. 

U 


298  A   SERVANT    LASS 

"  What  are  ye  glowerin'  at  me  for  as  if  a'  wes 
a  fairlie  ?"  and  Jamie  affected  anger;  "hes  a 
Drumtochty  man  no  as  muckle  richt  tae  see 
the  metropolis  o'  the  country  as  ither  fouk,  gin 
he  can  pay  his  fare  up  an'  doon? 

"  A  Ve  been  wantin'  tae  see  the  Tooer  o' 
London,  whar  mony  a  lord  hes  pairted  wi'  his 
heid,  an'  Westminster  Abbey,  whar  the  michty 
dead  are  lyin',  an'  the  Hooses  o'  Parliament, 
whar  they  haver  a  hale  nicht  through,  an'  the 
streets,  whar  the  soond  o'  feet  never  ceases. 

"  The  fact  is,"  and  Jamie  tasted  the  situation 
to  the  full,  "  a  'm  anxious  tae  improve  ma  mind, 
an'  gin  ye  speak  me  fair  a  'II  maybe  gie  the 
Glen  a  lecture  in  the  schulehoose  in  the  winter 
time  wi'  a  magic-lantern,  ye  ken." 

The  neighbours  regarded  him  with  horror, 
and,  after  he  had  departed,  united  their  wis- 
dom to  solve  the  mystery. 

"  Jamie  's  by  himsel  in  the  Glen,"  summed 
up  Hillocks,  "an'  hes  a  wy  o'  his  ain.  Ma 
thocht  is  that  he  juist  took  a  notion  o'  seein' 
London,  an'  noo  that  we  've  contered  (op- 
posed) him,  Jamie  'ill  go,  gin  it  cost  him  ten 
notes." 

On  his  way  home  Jamie  gave  Mary  Robert- 


HOW    SHE   CAME    HOME  299 

son  a  cry,  who  was  sitting  very  lonesome  and 
sad-like  before  her  door. 

"  Hoo  are  ye,  Mary?  the  smell  o'  spring  's  in 
the  air,  an'  the  buds  are  burstin'  bonnie.  Ye 
'ill  no  hae  heard  that  a  'm  aff  tae  London  the 
morrow,  juist  for  a  ploy,  ye  ken,  tae  see  the 
wonders." 

As  Mary  only  stared  at  him,  Jamie  offered 
explanations  in  atonement  for  his  foolishness. 

"  Ye  see  a  've  aye  hed  an  ambeetion  tae  see 
the  big  warld  that  lies  ootside  oor  bit  Glen,  for 
its  far  awa'  soon'  hes  been  often  in  ma  ear. 
A  've  savit  a  note  or  twa,  an'  a  '11  get  a  glimpse 
afore  a'  dee." 

"  It 's  a  Providence,  an'  naethin'  less  than  an 
answer  tae  prayer,"  broke  in  Mary,  in  great 
agitation  ;  "  here  hev  I  been  murnin'  that  a' 
cudna  get  tae  London  masel,  an'  that  a'  kent 
naebody  there,  till  ma  heart  wes  weary  in  ma 
breist. 

"  Naethin'  is  sairer,  Jamie,  than  tae  ken  that 
ane  ye  luve  is  lyin'  ill  amang  strangers,  wi'  nae- 
body o'  her  bluid  tae  speak  a  couthy  word  tae 
her,  puir  lassie,  or  gie  her  a  drink.  A'  wes 
juist  seein'  her  lyin'  alane  at  the  top  of  the  big 
hoose,  an'  wushin'  she  wes  wi 's  a'  in  the  Glen." 


300  A   SERVANT    LASS 

"  Posty  said  something  aboot  Lily  bein'  a 
wee  sober,"  Jamie  remarked,  with  much  com- 
posure, as  if  the  matter  had  just  come  into  his 
memory  ;  "  an'  noo  a'  mind  ye  expeckit  her 
hame  for  a  hoHday  laist  August.  She  wudna  be 
wantin'  tae  traivel  sae  far  north,  a  'm  jalousin'." 

"  Traivel !"  cried  Mary  ;  "  naebody  cares  for 
a  long  road  gin  it  brings  us  hame ;  an'  Lily  wes 
coontin'  she  would  come  up  wi'  the  Drum- 
tochty  fouk  on  the  first  Friday  o'  laist  August. 
A'  wes  cleanin'  up  the  place  for  a  month  tae 
hae  *t  snod,  but  she  didna  come,  an'  a  'm  fearin' 
she  'ill  no  be  here  again  ;  a'  hed  a  feelin'  frae 
the  beginnin'  a'  wud  never  see  Lily  again. 

"  Her  letter  cam  on  a  Thursday  afternoon 
when  I  was  beginnin'  tae  air  the  sheets  for  her 
bed,  an'  when  Posty  gave  it,  I  got  a  turn. 
*  Lily  's  no  comin,'  sit  doon,'  a'  sed. 

"  Scarlet  fever  broke  oot  amang  the  bairns 
in  the  family,  an'  she  thocht  it  her  duty  tae 
stay  and  help,  for  the  hoose  wes  fu'  o'  nurses, 
an'  the  cairryin'  wes  by  ordinar." 

"  It  wes  a  sacrifice,"  said  Jamie,  "  Lily  never 
eneuch  cared  for  hersel  ;  the  wark  wud  tell  on 
her  a  '11  warrant." 

"  Ma   opeenion   is  that  she' s  never  got  the 


HOW   SHE   CAME    HOME  301 

better  o'  that  month,  an,'  Jamie,  a'  hevna  likit 
her  letters  a'  winter.  It  's  little  she  says  aboot 
hersel,  but  she  's  hed  a  hoast  (cough)  for  sax 
months,  an'  a'  gither  her  breath  's  failin'. 

"  Jamie,  a'  hevna  said  it  tae  a  livin'  soul,  but 
a've  hed  a  warnin'  no  langer  back  than  laist 
nicht.  Lily's  deein',  an'  it  wes  London  'at 
hes  killed  her. 

"  Ye  'ill  gae  tae  see  her,  Jamie  ;  ye  aye  were 
a  gude  friend  tae  Lily,  an'  she  likit  ye  week 
Write  hoo  she  is,  an'  bring  her  back  wi'  you 
gin  she  can  traivel,  that  a'  may  see  her  again, 
if  it  be  the  Lord's  wull." 

"  Dinna  be  feared  o'  that,  Marv ;  a  '11  no 
come  back  withoot  Lily,"  and  Jamie's  air  of 
resolution  was  some  consolation. 

Before  he  left,  Jamie  visited  a  sheltered  nook 
in  Tochty  woods,  and  when  he  inquired  for 
Lily  Grant  next  day  at  the  door  of  a  London 
West-End  house,  there  was  a  bunch  of  fresh 
primroses  in  his  hand. 

"  Disna  live  here  noo,  did  ye  say  ?  then  what 
hae  ye  dune  wi'  Lily?  a'  maun  get  tae  the 
boddom  o'  this,"  and  Jamie  passed  into  the 
hall,  the  majestic  personage  at  the  door  having 
no  strength  left  to  resist. 


302  A   SERVANT    LASS 

"  Tell  yir  mistress  this  meenut  that  a  freend 
hes  come  frae  Drumtochty  tae  ask  news  o'  Lily 
Grant,  an'  wuM  wait  till  he  gets  them,"  and 
Jamie's  personality  was  so  irresistible  that  the 
personage  counselled  an  immediate  audience. 

"Grant's  father,  I  suppose?"  began  Lily's 
mistress,  with  suspicious  fluency.  "No?  Ah, 
then,  some  relative,  no  doubt  ?  how  good  of 
you  to  call,  and  so  convenient,  too,  for  I  wanted 
to  see  some  of  her  family.  She  was  an  excel- 
lent servant,  and  so  nice  in  the  house ;  the 
others  were  quite  devoted  to  her.  But  I  never 
thought  her  strong.  Don't  you  think  London 
is  trying  to  country-girls?  " 

Jamie  did  not  offer  any  opinion. 

"  One  of  the  children  caught  that  horrid 
scarlet  fever,  and  in  the  beginning  of  August, 
of  all  times,  when  we  were  going  down  to  Scot- 
land. Some  of  the  servants  had  left,  and  the 
child  had  to  be  nursed  here ;  there  was  lots  of 
work,  and  it  fell  on  Grant. 

"  She  was  going  at  that  very  time  to  her 
home — Drum  something  or  other ;  or  was  it 
Ben? — it's  always  the  one  or  the  other  when 
it  isn't  Mac." 

"  Drumtochty  is  the  name  o'  Lily's  hame,  an' 


HOW   SHE    CAME    HOME  303 

her  auld  grimdmither  wes  lookin'  for  her  aifter 
three  years'  service." 

"  Quite  so ;  and  that 's  just  what  I  said  to 
her.  '  Take  your  hoHday,  Grant,  and  we  '11 
worry  on  somehow,'  but  she  wouldn't  go.  We 
thought  it  so  pretty  of  her,  for  servants  are 
generally  so  selfish ;  and  she  really  did  wonder- 
fully, as  much  as  three  women,  do  you  know?" 

"If  it  wudna  hurry  ye,  wud  ye  tell  me  her 
address  in  London?" 

"  Of  course ;  I  'm  coming  to  that,  but  I  felt 
you  would  like  to  hear  all  about  her,  for  we  had 
a  great  idea  of  Grant.  It  was  a  cold  it  began 
with,  and  one  day  I  heard  her  coughing,  and 
told  her  she  must  positively  see  a  doctor ;  but 
Grant  was  very  obstinate  at  times,  and  she 
never  went." 

"  It  's  possible  that  she  didna  ken  ane.  An' 
what  cam  o'  her  cough?  " 

"  It  was  too  dreadful,  and  they  ought  not  to 
have  taken  me  to  the  room.  I  could  not  sleep 
all  night.  Grant  had  broken  a  blood-vessel, 
and  they  thought  she  was  dying." 

'*  Is  Lily  deid  ?  "  demanded  Jamie. 

"  Oh  no  ;  how  could  you  fancy  such  a  thing? 
But  our  doctor  said  it  was  a  \crv  bad  case,  and 


304  A   SERVANT   LASS 

that  she  could  not  live  above  a  week.  We  were 
desolated  to  part  with  her,  but  of  course  she 
could  not  remain, — I  mean,  we  knew  she  would 
receive  more  attention  in  a  hospital.  So  you 
understand " 

"  A'  dae,"  broke  in  Jamie,  "  fine  ;  Lily  workit 
for  you  an'  yir  bairns  in  a  time  o'  need  till  a' 
the  strength  she  brocht  wi'  her  wes  gane,  an' 
then,  when  she  wes  like  tae  dee,  ye  turned  her 
oot  as  ye  wudna  hae  dune  wi'  ane  o'  yir  horses. 
Ye  've  a  graund  hoose  an'  cairry  a  high  heid, 
but  ye  're  a  puir,  meeserable  cratur,  no  worthy 
to  be  compared  wi'  the  lass  ye  hev  dune  tae 
deith." 

"  You  have  no  right "  but  Jamie's  eyes 

went  through  her  and  she  fell  away ;  "  she  can 
— have  her  wages  for — two  months." 

"  No  one  penny  o'  yir  siller  wull  she  touch 
beyond  her  lawful  due  ;  gieme  the  name  o'  the 
hospital,  an'  a '11  tak  care  o'  oor  puir  lass  ma- 
sel." 

When  Jamie  was  told  at  the  hospital  that 
Lily  had  been  taken  away  again  in  the  ambu- 
lance next  day  to  the  house  of  the  visiting 
physician,  his  wrath  had  no  restraint. 

"  Is   there   nae   place   in   this  ceety  whar  a 


HOW  SHE   CAME    HOME  305 

freendless  lassie  can  rest  till  she  gaes  tae  her 
laist  hame?  "  and  Jamie  set  off  for  the  physi- 
cian, refusing  to  hear  any  explanation. 

"  Hev  a'  an  appointment  wi'  Sir  Andra  ?  Yes, 
a*  hev,  an'  for  this  verra  meenut."  So  again  he 
got  access,  for  the  virile  strength  that  was  in 
him^ 

"  We  have  done  all  we  could  for  her,  but  she 
has  only  a  day  to  live,"  said  Sir  Andrew,  a  lit- 
tle man,  with  the  manner  of  a  great  heart ;  "  she 
will  be  glad  to  see  you,  for  the  lassie  has  been 
wearying  for  a  sight  of  some  kent  face." 

"  Ye  're  Scotch,"  said  Jamie,  as  they  went  up- 
stairs, softening  and  beginning  to  suspect  that 
he  might  be  mistaken  about  things  for  once  in 
his  life;  "hoo  did  ye  bring  Lily  tae  yir  ain 
hoose?  " 

"  Never  mind  that  just  now,"  said  Sir  An- 
drew. "  Wait  till  I  prepare  Lily  for  your  com- 
ing," and  Jamie  owned  the  sudden  tone  of 
authority. 

"  One  of  your  old  friends  has  come  to  see 
you,  Lily" — Jamie  noted  how  gentle  and  ca- 
ressing was  the  voice — "  but  you  must  not  speak 
above  a  whisper  nor  excite  yourself.  Just  step 
into  the  next  room,  nurse." 


3o6  A  SERVANT  LASS 

"  Jamie,"  and  a  flush  of  joy  came  over  the 
pale,  thin  face,  that  he  would  hardly  have 
recognised,  "  this  is  gude  .  .  .  o'  ye  .  .  .  tae 
come  sae  far,    ...    a'  wes  wantin'    .    .    .    tae 

see  a  Drumtochty  face  afore  a' "  Then  the 

tears  choked  her  words. 

"  Ou  ay,"  began  Jamie  with  deliberation. 
"You  see  a'  wes  up  lookin'  aifter  some  o' 
Drumsheugh's  fat  cattle  that  he  sent  aff  tae  the 
London  market,  so  of  course  a'  cudna  be  here 
withoot  giein'  ye  a  cry. 

"  It  wes  a  ploy  tae  find  ye,  just  like  hide-an'- 
seek,  but,  ma  certes,  ye  hev  got  a  fine  hame  at 
laist,"  and  Jamie  appraised  the  dainty  bed,  the 
soft  carpet,  the  little  table  with  ice  and  fruit 
and  flowers,  at  their  untold  value  of  kindness. 

"  Div  ye  no  ken,  Jamie,  that  a  'm "   But 

Lily  still  found  the  words  hard  to  say  at  three- 
and-twenty. 

"Ye  mean  that  ye  hevna  been  takin'  care  o' 
yirsel,  an'  a'  can  see  that  masel,"  but  he  was 
looking  everywhere  except  at  Lily,  who  was 
waiting  to  catch  his  eye.  "  Ye  'ill  need  to  gither 
yir  strength  again  an'  come  back  wi'  me  tae 
Drumtochty. 

"Ye   ken  \\har   thae  floors  grew,  Lily,"  and 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  307 

Jamie  hastily  produced  his  primroses ;  "  a* 
thocht  ye  micht  like  a  sicht  o'  them." 

"  Doon  ablow  the  Lodge  in  the  Tochty  woods 
.  .  .  whar  the  river  taks  a  turn  .  .  .  an'  the 
sun  is  shinin'  bonnie  noo  .  .  .  an'  a  birk 
stands  abune  the  bank  an'  dips  intae  the  water." 

"  The  verra  place,  a  couthy  corner  whar  the 
first  primroses  coom  oot.  Ye  hevna  forgot  the 
auld  Glen,  Lily.  Dinna  greet,  lassie,  or  Sir  An- 
dra  'ill  be  angry.  Ye  may  be  sure  he  'ill  dae 
a'  he  can  for  ye." 

"  He  hes,  Jamie,  an'  mair  than  a'  can  tell  ;  a' 
wud  like  Grannie  an'  .  .  .  the  fouk  tae  ken 
hoo  a  'ave  been  treated  ...  as  if  a'  wes  a 
leddy,  an'  his  ain  blude. 

"  When  they  laid  me  in  the  bed  at  the  hos- 
pital, an'  a'  githered  that  ...  it  wudna  be 
lang,  an'  awfu'  longin'  cam  intae  ma  hert  .  .  . 
for  a  quiet  place  tae  .  .  .  dee  in. 

"  It  was  a  graund  airy  room,  an'  everybody 
wes  kind,  an'  a'  hed  a'thing  ye  cud  wish  for,  but 
...  it  gied  against  ma  nature  tae  .  .  .  wi'  a' 
thae  strangers  in  the  room  ;  oor  hooses  are  wee, 
but  they're  oor  ain." 

Jamie  nodded ;  he  appreciated  the  horror  of 
dying  in  a  public  place. 


3o8  A  SERVANT  LASS 

"  Sir  Andra  cam  roond  and  heard  the  accoont, 
an'  he  saw  me  greetin' — a'  cudna  help  it,  Jamie, 
— an'  he  read  ma  name  at  the  tap  o'  the  bed. 

" '  You  're  from  my  country,'  he  said,  but  he 
didna  need  tae  tell  me,  for  a'  caught  the  soond 
in  his  voice,  an'  ma  hert  warmed  ;  '  don't  be  cast 
down,  Lily ; '  a'  coontit  it  kind  tae  use  ma 
name ;  '  we  'ill  do  all  we  can  for  you.* 

"'A'  ken  a 'm  deein','  a'  said,  'an'  a'm  no 
feared,  but  a'  canna  thole  the  thocht  o'  slippin' 
awa  in  a  hospital ;  it  wud  hae  been  different  at 
hame.' 

"  '  Ye  'ill  no  want  a  hame  here,  Lily ;  '  it  wes 
braid  Scotch  noo,  an'  it  never  soonded  sae 
sweet;  an',  Jamie  " — here  the  whisper  was  so 
low,  Jamie  had  to  bend  his  head — "  a*  saw  the 
tears  in  his  een." 

"  Rest  a  wee,  Lily ;  a  'm  followin* ;  sae  he 
took  ye  tae  his  ain  hoose  an'  pit  ye  in  the  best 
room,  an'  they  've  waitit  on  ye  as  if  ye  were  his 
ain  dochter  ;  ...  ye  dinna  need  tae  speak  ;  a' 
wudna  say  but  Sir  Andra  micht  be  a  Christian 
o'  the  auld  kind,  a'  mean,  '  I  was  a  stranger, 
and  ye  took  Me  in.'  " 

"  Jamie,"  whispered  Lily,  before  he  left, 
"  there 's  juist  ae  thing  hurtin'  me  a  wee  ;  it 's 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  309 

the  wy  ma  mistress  .  .  .  hes  treated  me.  A' 
tried  tae  be  faithfu',  though  maybe  a'  didna 
answer  the  bells  sae  quick  the  laist  sax  months, 
.  .  .  an'  a'  thocht  she  micht  .  .  .  hae  peetied  a 
lone  cratur  main 

"  It 's  no  that  a'  hev  ony  cause  o'  complaint 
aboot  wages  or  keep — a'  wes  twice  raised, 
Jamie,  an'  hed  a'thing  a'  needed,  an'  a  'm  no 
hurt  aboot  bein'  cairried  tae  the  hospital,  for 
there  were  five  stairs  tae  ma  room,  an'  .  .  .  it 
wudna  hae  been  handy  tae  wait  on  me. 

"  Na,  na,  Jamie,  a  'm  no  onreasonable,  but 
...  a'  houpit  she  wud  hae  come  tae  see  me  or 
.  .  .  sent  a  bit  word  ;  gin  a  body's  sober  (weak) 
like  me,  ye  like  tae  be  remembered  ;  it  .  .  . 
minds  you  o'  the  luve  o'  God,  Jamie,"  and  Lily 
turned  her  face  away.  "  A'  wes  prayin*  tae  see 
a  Drumtochty  face  aince  mair,  an'  a  've  gotten 
that,  an'  gin  ma  mistress  hed  juist  said,  .  .  . 
'  Ye  've  dune  as  weel  as  ye  cud,*  ...  a'  wudna 
ask  mair. 

"Ye  hae't  then,  Lily,"  said  Jamie,  taking  an 
instant  resolution,  "  for  a  've  been  tae  see  yir 
mistress,  an'  a'  wes  fair  .  .  .  ashamed  the  wy 
she  spoke  aboot  ye,  being  Drumtochty  masel, 
an'  no'  wantin'  tae  show  pride. 


3IO  A  SERVANT  LASS 

"As  sure  's  a 'm  here,  she  cudna  find  words 
for  her  thochts  o'  ye  ;  it  wes  naethin'  but  yir 
faithfulness  an'  yir  gude  wark,  hoo  a'body 
Hket  ye  an'  hoo  gratefu'  she  wes  to  you.  A' 
wes  that  affeckit  that  a'  hed  tae  leave. 

"  What  wud  ye  say,  wumman,  gin  yon  graund 
lady  hes  been  twice  a-day  at  the  hospital 
speirin'  for  you,  kerridge  an'  a',  mind  ye ;  but 
ye  ken  they  're  terrible  busy  in  thae  places,  an' 
canna  aye  get  time  tae  cairry  the  messages. 

"  But  that  's  no  a',"  for  the  glow  on  Lily's 
face  was  kindling  Jamie's  inspiration,  and  he 
saw  no  use  for  economy  in  a  good  work. 
"What  think  ye  o'  this  for  a  luck-penny? 
twenty  pund  exact,  an'  a'  in  goud  ;  it  looks 
bonnie  glintin'  in  the  licht,"  and  Jamie  emptied 
on  the  table  the  store  of  sovereigns  he  had 
brought  from  Muirtown  bank, without  shame. 

"  The  mistress  surely  never  sent  that  .  .  . 
tae  me.'*"  Lily  whispered. 

"  Maybe  a'  pickit  it  up  on  the  street  ;  they 
think  awa  in  the  country  the  verra  streets  are 
goud  here.  *  Give  her  this  from  us  all,'  were 
her  verra  words,"  said  Jamie,  whose  conscience 
had  abandoned  the  unequal  struggle  with  his 
heart.     "  *  Tell  her  that  she's  to  get  whatever 


HOW   SHE   CAME    HOME  311 

she  likes  with  it,  and  to  go  down  to  her  home 
for  a  long  holiday.'  " 

"  Did  ye  thank  her,  Jamie  ?  Nae  man  hes 
a  better  tongue." 

"  Ma  tongue  never  serxn't  me  better  ;  sail,  ye 
wud  hae  been  astonished  gin  }'e  hed  herd  me," 
with  the  emphasis  of  one  who  stood  at  last  on 
the  rock  of  truth. 

"A  'm  rael  content  noo,"  Lily  said,  "  but  a' 
canna  speak  mair,  an'  a  've  something  tae  say 
that  'ill  no  keep  till  the  morn,"  and  Jamie 
promised  to  return  that  evening. 

Jamie  waited  in  the  hall  till  the  last  of  the 
famous  physician's  patients  had  gone  ;  then  he 
went  in  and  said  : 

"  When  a'  entered  this  hoose  ma  hert  wes 
sair,  for  a'  thocht  a  defenceless  lassie  hed  been 
ill-used  in  her  straits,  an'  noo  a'  wud  like  to 
apologeese  for  ma  hot  words.  Ye  've  dune  a 
gude  work  the  day  that  's  no  for  the  like  o'  me 
to  speak  aboot,  but  it  'ill  hae  its  reward  frae  the 
Father  o'  the  fatherless." 

"  Toots,  man,  what  nonsense  is  this  you  're 
talking?"  said  Sir  Andrew  ;  "you  don't  under- 
stand the  situation.  The  fact  is,  I  wanted  to 
study  Lily's  case,  and  it  was  handier  to  have 


312  A   SERVANT   LASS 

her  in  my  house.  Just  medical  selfishness,  you 
know." 

"A*  micht  hae  thocht  o'  that,"  and  the  in- 
telligence in  Jamie's  eye  was  so  sympathetic 
that  Sir  Andrew  quailed  before  it.  "  We  hev  a 
doctor  in  oor  pairish  that 's  yir  verra  marra 
(equal),  aye  practeesin'  on  the  sick  fouk,  and 
for  lookin'  aifter  himsel  he  passes  belief." 

"  Juist  Weelum  Maclure  ower  again,"  Jamie 
meditated,  as  he  went  along  the  street.  "  Lon- 
don or  Drumtochty,  great  physeecian  or  puir 
country  doctor,  there  's  no  ane  o'  them  tae 
mend  anither  for  doonricht  gudeness.  There  's 
naebody  'ill  hae  a  chance  wi'  them  at  the  latter 
end ;  an'  for  leein'  tae,  a'  believe  Sir  Andra 
wud  beat  Weelum  himsel." 

When  Jamie  returned,  Lily  had  arranged  her 
store  of  gold  in  little  heaps,  and  began  at  once 
to  give  directions. 

"  Ye  maun  py  ma  debts  first,  ye  ken,  Jamie  ; 
a'  cudna  .  .  .  leave,  thinkin'  that  a'  wes  awin' 
a  penny  tae  onybody.  Grannie  aye  brocht  us 
up  tae  live  sae  that  we  cud  look  a'body  in  the 
face,  and  exceptin'  Chairlie.  .  .  . 

"  Twal  shilling  tae  the  shoemaker,  an  honest, 
well-daein'  man  ;  mony  a   time   he 's   telt   me 


HOW    SHE   CAME    HOME  313 

aboot  John  Wesley :  and  a  pund  tae  the  dress- 
maker ;  it's  no  a'  for  masel  ;  there  wes  anither 
Scotch  lassie,  .  .  .  but  that  disna  maitter.  Cud 
ye  pay  thae  accounts  the  nicht,  for  the  dress- 
maker  'ill  be  needin'  her  money  ?  ...  It  wes 
ma  tribble  hindered  me  ;  .  .  .  a'  started  ae  day, 
an'  the  catch  in  ma  side,  ...  a'  hed  tae  come 
back. 

"  Noo  there  's  ma  kirk,  an'  we  maunna  forget 
it,  for  a  've  been  rael  happy  there ;  ma  sittin' 
wes  due  the  beginnin'  o'  the  month,  and  a'  aye 
gied  ten  shillings  tae  the  missions;  an',  Jamie, 
they  were  speakin'  o'  presentin'  the  minister  wi' 
some  bit  token  o'  respect  aifter  bein'  twenty- 
five  years  here.  Pit  me  doon  for  a  pund — no 
ma  name,  ye  ken;  that  wud  be  forward  ;  juist 
.  .  .  '  A  gratefu*  servant  lass.' 

"  Ye  'ill  get  some  bonnie  hankerchief  or  siclike 
for  the  nurse  ;  it  wudna  dae  tae  ofTer  her  siller  ; 
an'  dinna  forget  the  hoosemaid,  for  she  's  hed  a 
sair  trachle  wi'  me.  As  for  Sir  Andra,  .  .  . 
naething  can  py  him. 

"  Here  's  five  pund,  and  ye  'ill  gie  't  tae 
Grannie  ;  she  kens  wha  it  's  for ;  it  'ill  juist 
feenish  the  debt  .  .  . 

"  Ye  can  haud  yir  tongue,  Jamie.  Wull  ye 
X 


314  A    SERVANT   LASS 

write  a  line  tae  Chairlie,  an'  say  .  .  .  that  a' 
wes  thinkin'  o'  him  at  the  end,  an'  expectin' 
him  tae  be  a  credit  tae  his  fouk  .  .  .  some  day  ; 
an',  Jamie,  gin  he  ever  come  back  in  his  richt 
mind  tae  the  Glen,  ye  'ill  ...  no  be  hard  on 
him  like  ye  wes  laist  time  ?" 

"  Chairlie  'ill  no  want  a  freend  gin  a'  be  leevin', 
Lily;  is  that  a'  ?"  for  ye  're  tirin'  yersel." 

"  There  's  ae  thing  mair,  but  a  'm  dootin'  it 's 
no  richt  o*  me  tae  waste  Grannie's  siller  on  't, 
for  a*  wantit  tae  leave  her  somethin'  wiselike ; 
.  .  .  but,  O  Jamie,  a  've  taken  a  longin'  .  .  . 
tae  lie  in  Drumtochty  kirkyaird  wi'  ma  mither 
an'  Grannie. 

''  A'  ken  it  's  a  notion,  but  a'  dinna  like  thae 
cemetairies  wi'  their  gravel  roadies,  an*  their  big 
monuments,  an'  the  croods  o'  careless  fouk,  an' 
the  hooses  pressin'  on  them  frae  every  side." 

"  A'  promised  Mary,"  broke  in  Jamie,  that  a' 
wud  bring  ye  hame,  an  a  '11  keep  ma  word,  Lily  ; 
gin  it  be  God's  wull  tae  tak  yir  soul  tae  Himsel, 
yir  body  'ill  be  laid  wi'  yir  ain  fouk,"  and  Jamie 
left  hurriedly. 

Next  morning  Sir  Andrew  and  the  minister 
were  standing  by  Lily's  bedside,  and  only 
looked  at  him  when  he  joined  them. 


HOW   SHE    CAME    HOME  315 

"Jamie,  .  .  ,  thank  ye  a',  .  .  .  owergude  tae 
...  a  servant  lass,  .  .  .  tell  them  ...  at 
hame." 

Each  man  bade  her  good-bye,  and  the  min- 
ister ■  said  certain  words  which  shall  not  be 
written. 

"  Thae  .  .  .  weary  stairs,"  and  she  breathed 
heavily  for  a  time  ;  then,  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
"  A  'm  comin'." 

"  Lily  has  reached  the  .  .  .  landing,"  said 
Sir  Andrew,  and  as  they  went  downstairs  no 
man  would  have  looked  at  his  neighbour's  face 
for  a  ransom. 

"  A'  wrote  that  verra  nicht  tae  Drumsheugh," 
Jamie  explained  to  our  guard  between  the  Junc- 
tion and  Kildrummie ;  "an'  a 'm  no  sure  but 
he  'ill  be  doon  himsel  wi'  a  neebur  or  twa  juist 
tae  gie  Lily  a  respectable  funeral,  for  she  hes 
nae  man  o'  her  bluide  tae  come. 

"  Div  ye  see  onything,  Peter?"  Jamie  was  in 
a  fever  of  anxiety;  "the  Kildrummie  hearse 
stands  heich,  an'  it  sud  be  there,  besides  the 
mourners." 

"  Kildrummie  platform  's  black,"  cried  Peter 
from  the  footboard  ;  "  the  'ill  be  twal  gin  there 
be  a  man  ;  ye  stick  by  ane  anither  weel  up  the 


3i6  A   SERVANT    LASS 

\vy ;  it  's  no  often  a  servant  is  brocht  hame  for 
beerial ;  a'  dinna  mind  a  case  sin  the  line 
opened." 

While  they  went  through  Kildrummie,  Jamie 
walked  alone  behind  the  hearse  as  chief  mourn- 
er, with  a  jealously  regulated  space  of  five  feet 
between  him  and  the  neighbours  ;  but  as  soon 
as  the  pine  woods  had  swallowed  up  the  pro- 
cession, he  dropped  behind,  and  was  once  more 
approachable. 

"  Ye  've  had  a  time  o  't,"  said  Hillocks,  treat- 
ing Jamie  as  an  ordinary  man  again  ;  "  wha  wud 
hae  thocht  this  wes  tae  be  the  end  o'  yir 
London  jaunt?  Sail !"  and  Hillocks  felt  him- 
self unable  to  grapple  with  the  situation. 

"This  is  juist  naethin',''  with  vague  allusion 
to  the  arrival  by  railway  and  the  Kildrummie 
hearse  ;  no  worth  mentionin'  wi'  the  beginnin' 
o*  the  beerial  at  the  ither  end,"  and  Jamie  chose 
Whinnie's  box,  out  of  three  offered,  to  brace 
him  for  descriptive  narrative. 

"  Ye  maun  understand,"  began  Jamie,  know- 
ing that  he  had  at  least  four  miles  before  it 
would  be  necessary  for  him  to  resume  his  posi- 
tion of  solitary  dignity,  "  that  as  sune  as  Lily 
turned    ill   she    was   taken  tae  the  hoose  o'  a 


now    SHE    CAME    HOME  317 

great  London  doctor,  an'  Sir  Andra  waited  on 
her  himsel  ;  there  's  maybe  no'  anither  o'  his 
patients  withoot  a  title ;  a'  herd  him  speak  o'  a 
Duchess  ae  day. 

"  When  it  wes  a'  over,  puir  lassie,  if  they 
didna  fecht  tae  py  for  the  beerial.  The  min- 
ister threipit  wi'  me  that  he  hed  a  fund  at  his 
kirk  for  sic  objects,  a  sonsy  man  wi'  a  face  that 
pit  ye  in  mind  o'  hame  to  look  at  it,  but  a'  saw 
through  his  fund  ;  it 's  fearsome  hoo  Scotch 
folk  'ill  lee  tae  cover  gude  deeds." 

"  Div  ye  think  he  wud  hae  py'd  it  oot  o'  his 
ain  pocket?"  interrupted  Hillocks. 

" '  Na,  na,'  a'  said  tae  the  minister,'  for  Hil- 
locks was  beneath  notice,  'ye  maun  lat  her 
mistress  bear  the  beerial ' — twenty  pund,  as 
a  'm  on  this  road,  she  gied  ;  '  a  faithfu'  servant, 
she  's  tae  want  for  nothing ;'  it  wes  handsome, 
an'  'ill  be  maist  comfortin'  tae  Mary. 

"Ye  saw  the  coffin  for  ^^ersels,"  and  Jamie 
now  gave  himself  to  aetails ;  "the  London 
hearse  hed  gless  sides  and  twa  horses,  then  a 
mourning-coach  wi'  the  minister  an'  me  ;  but 
that 's  the  least  o  't.    What  think  ye  cam  next  ?" 

"  Some  o'  the  neeburs  walkin'  maybe," 
suggested  Whinnie. 


3i8  A  SERVANT  LASS 

"  Walkin', "  repeated  Jamie,  with  much 
bitterness,  as  of  one  who  despaired  of  Drum- 
tochty,  and  saw  no  use  in  wasting  his  breath ; 
"  juist  so  :  ye  've  hed  mair  rain  here  than  in 
England." 

"  Never  mind  Whinnie,  Jamie,"  intervened 
Drumsheugh  ;  "  we  maun  hae  the  rest  o'  the 
funeral  ;  wes  there  another  coach  ?" 

"What  wud  ye  say,"  and  Jamie  spoke  with 
much  solemnity,  "  tae  a  private  kerridge,  an' 
mair  than  ane  ?  Ay,  ye  may  look,"  allowing 
himself  some  freedom  of  recollection.  "  Sir 
Andra's  wes  next  tae  the  coach,  wi'  the  blinds 
drawn  doon,  and  aifter  it  an  elder's  frae  her 
kirk.  He  heard  o'  Lily  through  the  minister, 
an'  naething  wud  sateesfy  him  but  tae  dae  her 
sic  honour  as  he  cud, 

"  Gaein'  roond  the  corners  o'  the  streets — a' 
cudna  help  it,  neeburs — a'  juist  took  a  glisk 
oot  at  the  window,  an'  when  a*  saw  the 
banker's  horses  wi'  the  silver  harness,  a'  wushed 
ye  hed  been  there  ;  sic  respect  tae  a  Drum- 
tochty  lass. 

"Ye  saw  the  lilies  on  the  coffin,"  wound  up 
Jamie,  doing  his  best  to  maintain  a  chastened 
tone.     "  Did  ye  catch  the  writin' — 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  319 

^  In  remembrance  of  Lily  Grant, 
W/io  did  Jier  duty! 

Sir  Andra's  ain  hand ;  an'  Lily  got  nae  mair 
than  her  due." 

When  Jamie  parted  with  Drumsheugh  on 
the  way  home,  and  turned  down  the  road  to 
Mary's  cottage,  to  give  her  the  HHes  and  a  full 
account  of  her  lassie,  Drumsheugh  watched 
him  till  he  disappeared. 

"  Thirty  pund  wes  what  he  drew  frae  the 
Muirtown  bank  oot  o'  his  savings,  for  the  clerk 
telt  me  himsel,  and  naebody  jalouses  the  trick. 
It 's  the  cleverest  thing  Jamie  ever  did,  an*  ane 
o'  the  best  a  've  seen  in  Drumtochty." 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION 

Drumtochty  had  a  legitimate  curiosity  re- 
garding the  history  of  any  new  tenant,  and 
Hillocks  was  invaluable  on  such  occasion,  being 
able  to  collect  a  complete  biography  during  a 
casual  conversation  on  the  state  of  markets. 
No  details  of  family  or  business  were  left  out 
in  the  end,  but  there  was  an  unwritten  law  of 
precedence,  and  Hillocks  himself  would  not 
have  condescended  on  the  rent  till  he  had  satis- 
fied himself  as  to  the  incomer's  religion. 
Church  connection  was  universal  and  unal- 
terable in  the  Glen.  When  Lachlan  Campbell 
had  his  argument  with  Carmichael,  he  still  sat 
in  his  place  in  the  Free  Kirk,  and  although 
Peter  Macintosh  absented  himself  for  a  month 
from  the  Parish  Kirk  over  the  pew  question, 
he  was  careful  to  explain  to  the  doctor  that  he 
had  not  forgotten  himself  so  far  as  to  become 
a  renegade. 

"  Na,  na,  a  'm   no  coming  back,"  Peter  had 


324  MILTON'S   CCJNVERSION 

said  after  the  doctor  had  done  his  best,  "  till 
ye 're  dune  Avi'  that  stove,  an'  ye  needna  prig 
(plead)  Avi'  me  ony  langer.  What  is  the  gude 
o'  being  a  Presbyterian  gin  ye  canna  object  ? 
but  a '11  give  ye  this  sateesfaction,  that  though 
a'  dinna  darken  the  kirk  door  for  the  lave  o'  ma 
life,  a '11  no  gang  ony  ither  place." 

An  immigrant  was  the  only  change  in  our 
church  circles,  and  the  kirkyard  waited  for  the 
news  of  Milton's  creed  with  appreciable  in- 
terest. 

"Week  Hillocks?"  inquired  Drumsheugh, 
considering  it  unnecessary  in  the  circumstances 
to  define  his  question. 

"  Ou  aye,"  for  Hillocks  accepted  his  respon- 
sibility, "  a'  gied  Tammas  Bisset  a  cry  laist 
Friday,  him  'at  lies  the  grocer's  shop  in  the 
Sooth  Street  an'  a'  the  news  o'  Muirtown,  juist 
tae  hear  the  price  o'  butter,  and  a'  happened  tae 
licht  on  Milton  an'  tae  say  he  wud  be  an  addee- 
tion  tae  oor  kirk." 

"  Did  ye  though  ?  "  cried  Whinnie,  in  admira- 
tion of  Hillocks's  opening  move  ;  "  that  wes  rael 
cannie,  but  hoo  did  ye  ken?" 

'"Gin  he  be  a  help  tae  Drumtochty  Kirk,' 
says  Tammas" — Hillocks  never  turned  out  of 


MILTON'S    CONVERSION  325 

his  way  for  Whinnie — "  '  it  's  mair  than  he  wes 
tae  the  Auld  Kirk  here  in  twenty  year.' 

''The  Free  Kirk  'ill  be  pleased  then,"  broke 
in  Whinnie,  who  was  incorrigible ;  "  they  'ill 
mak  him  a  deacon  :  they're  terrible  for  the  Sus- 
tentation  Fund." 

"  '  It 's  no  lost,  Tammas,  that  a  freend  gets,' 
says  I,"  continued  Hillocks,  "  '  an'  we  'ill  no 
grudge  him  tae  the  Free  Kirk ;  na,  na,  we  're 
no  sae  veecious  that  wy  in  the  Glen  as  ye  are 
in  Muirtown.  Ilka  man  sud  hae  his  ain  prin- 
ciple and  py  his  debts. 

"  '  He  coonted  the  Free  Kirk  waur  than  the 
auld  here,  an'  a  'm  thinkin'  he  's  ower  pleased 
wi'  himself  tae  change  up  by  ;  he  'ill  show  ye 
some  new  fashions,  a 'm  judgin','  says  Tam- 
mas." And  Hillocks  ceased,  that  the  fathers 
might  face  the  prospect  of  a  new  religion. 

"  It 's  no  chancy,"  observed  Whinnie,  collect- 
ing their  mind. 

''There  wes  a  man  doon  Dunleith  wy  in  ma 
father's  time,"  began  Drumsheugh,  ransacking 
ancient  history  for  parallels,  "  'at  wud  hae 
naethin'  tae  dae  wi'  kirks.  He  preached  himsel 
in  the  kitchen,  an'  bapteezed  his  faimily  in  the 
mill  dam.     They  ca'd  him  a  dookie,  but  a  've 


326  MILTON'S   CONVERSION 

heard  there  's  mair  than  ae  kind  ;  what  wud  he 
be,  Jamie?  " 

"  Parteeklar  Baptist,"  repHed  that  oracle ; 
"  he  buried  his  wife  in  the  stackyaird,  an'  opened 
vials  for  a  year;  gin  Milton  be  o'  that  persua- 
sion, it  'ill  be  a  variety  in  the  Glen  ;  it  'ill  keep  's 
frae  wearyin'." 

"  The  Dunleith  man  aye  paid  twenty  shil- 
lings in  the  pund,  at  ony  rate,"  Drumsheugh 
wound  up,  "  an'  his  word  wi'  a  horse  wes  a 
warranty :  a'  dinna  like  orra  releegions  masel, 
but  the  '11  aye  be  some  camsteary  (unmanage- 
able) craturs  in  the  warld,"  and  the  kirkyard 
tried  to  be  hopeful. 

Milton's  first  visit  to  the  kirk  was  disappoint- 
ing, and  stretched  Drumtochty's  courtesy  near 
unto  the  breaking.  Hillocks,  indeed,  read  Mil- 
ton's future  career  in  his  conduct  that  day,  and 
indulged  in  mournful  prophecies  at  the  smiddy 
next  evening. 

"  Ye  're  richt  eneuch,  smith  ;  that 's  juist 
what  he  did,  an'  a'  took  his  measure  that 
meenut.  When  he  telt  Drumsheugh  that  it 
wes  nae  time  tae  be  speakin'  o'  hairst  at  the 
kirk  door,  an'  offered  us  a  bookie  each,  a'  saw 
there    wes   somethin'  far  wrang  wi'    him.     As 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION  327 

sure  as  a'm  stannin'  here,  he  'ill  be  a  tribble  in 
the  pairish. 

"  The  Milton  seat  is  afore  oors,  an'  a'  saw  a' 
he  did,  frae  the  beginnin'  o'  the  sermon  tae  the 
end,  an'  a'  tell  ye  his  conduct  wes  scandalous. 
Ae  meenut  he  wud  shak  his  head  at  the  doc- 
tor, as  if  he  kent  better  than  the  verra  minis- 
ter ;  the  next  he  wud  be  fleein'  through  his 
Bible  aifter  a  text.  He  wes  never  at  peace, 
naither  sittin'  nor  standin'  ;  he  's  juist  an  etter- 
cap.  There  's  nae  peace  whar  yon  man  is,  a  '11 
warrant  ;  a'  never  closed  an  ee  laist  Sabbath." 

It  was  into  Jamie's  hands  Milton  fell  when  he 
reviewed  the  sermon  on  the  way  home,  and  ex- 
pressed his  suspicion  of  ministers  who  selected 
texts  on  subjects  like  Mercy  and  Justice. 

"  We  aye  get  that  sermon  aboot  the  latter 
end  o'  hairst,  Milton,  an'  it 's  pop'lar ;  the  fouk 
hae  a  great  notion  o'  a  gude  life  up  here,  an' 
they  're  ill  tae  change.  A  'm  no  sayin'  but 
ye  're  richt,  though,  an'  it  'ill  be  a  help  tae  hae 
yir  creeticism. 

"  Drumtochty  is  clean  infatuat  aboot  the 
doctor,  an'  canna  see  onything  wrang  in  him. 
He  's  been  a'  his  days  in  the  Glen,  an'  though 
he  's  no  sae  stirrin'  as  he  micht  be,  the  mischief 


328  MILTON'S   CONVERSION 

o  't  is  that  he  aye  h'ves  a'  he  preaches,  an'  the 
stupid  bodies  canna  see  the  want. 

"  As  for  texts,  the  doctor  's  nae  doot  aggra- 
vatin'  ;  there  's  times  a  've  wanted  tae  hae  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  torn  oot  o'  the  Bible  an' 
gude  bits  o'  the  Prophets ;  he 's  aye  flingin' 
them  in  oor  faces.  Milton,  a'  tell  ye,"  and 
Jamie  stood  still  on  the  road  to  give  solemnity 
to  his  description  of  Doctor  Davidson's  defects, 
*'  if  there  's  a  moral  text  atween  the  boords  o' 
the  Bible,  he  'ill  hae  a  haud  o  't." 

"  A  'm  rael  pleased  tae  hear  sic  soond  views, 
Mister " 

"  Soutar  is  ma  name — Jamie  maist  com- 
monly." 

''  Soutar,"  and  Milton  might  be  excused  fall- 
ing into  the  snare,  "  }'e  ken  the  difference 
atween  a  show  o'  warks  an'  the  root  o'  the 
maitter.  A'  wes  astonished  at  yir  elder  ;  when 
a'  pointed  oot  the  defects  in  the  sermon,  he 
said,  "  Gin  we  dae  a'  the  doctor  telt  us,  we  'ill 
no  be  far  wrang ;'  ye  micht  as  wxel  be  a  hea- 
then." 

"  Drumsheugh  is  nae  standard,"  Jamie  ex- 
plained ;  "  he  *s  sae  begottit  (taken  up)  wi'  the 
commandments  that  a 'm  feared  o'  him.     He's 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION  329 

clever  at  a  bargain,  but  gin  he  thocht  he  hed 
cheatit  onybody,  Drumsheugh  wudna  sleep ; 
it  's  clean  legalism. 

"  Ye  micht  try  the  Free  Kirk,  Milton ; 
they  've  a  new  man,  an'  he  's  warmer  than  the 
doctor ;  he  's  fund  oot  anither  Isaiah,  an'  he  's 
sae  learned  that  he  'ill  maybe  hae  twa  Robbie 
Burns'  yet ;  but  that 's  naither  here  nor  there  •, 
^e  's  young  an'  fu'  o'  speerit ;  gie  him  a  trial." 

Jamie  discovered  with  much  interest  that 
Milton  had  been  examining  the  Free  Church, 
and  had  expressed  his  strong  dissatisfaction, 
some  said  because  of  grossly  erroneous  doc- 
trine, others  because  Carmichael  had  refused  to 
allow  him  to  preach.  Doctrine  was  the  ground 
he  alleged  to  Jamie,  who  looked  in  to  see  how- 
he  had  got  settled  and  what  he  thought  of 
things. 

"  A'  peety  this  Glen,"  he  said,  with  solem- 
nity ;  "  ae  place  it  's  cauld  morality,  an'  the 
ither  it 's  fause  teaching.  Div  ye  ken  what  a' 
heard  wi'  ma  ain  ears  laist  Sabbath  frae  Maister 
Carmichael  ?" 

Jamie  was  understood  to  declare  his  convic- 
tion that  a  man  who  was  not  satisfied  with  one 
Isaiah  might  be  capable  of  anything. 


330  MILTON'S   CONVERSION 

"  Ye  ken  verra  weel,"  for  Milton  believed 
Jamie  a  kindred  spirit  at  this  stage,  "that  we 're 
a*  here  on  probation,  and  that  few  are  chosen, 
juist  a  handfu'  here  and  there;  no  on  accoont 
o'  ony  excellence  in  oorsels,  so  we  maunna 
boast." 

"  Verra  comfortin'  for  the  handfu',''  mur- 
mured Jamie,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  roof. 

"  Weel,  gin  yon  young  man  didna  declare  in 
sae  mony  words  that  we  were  a'  God's  bairns, 
an'  that  He  wes  gaein'  tae  dae  the  best  He 
cud  wi'  every  ane  o  *s.  What  think  ye  o'  that  ? 
— nae  difference  atween  the  elect  an'  the  ithers, 
nae  preeveleges  nor  advantages;  it's  against 
baith  scriptur  an'  reason." 

"  He  wes  maybe  mixin'  up  the  Almichty  wi' 
his  ain  father,"  suggested  Jamie  ;  "  a  've  heard 
ignorant  fouk  say  that  a'  the  differ  is  that  the 
Almichty  is  no  waur  than  oor  ain  father,  but 
oot  o'  a'  sicht  kinder.  But  whar  wud  ye  be  gin 
ye  allooed  the  like  o'  that  ?  half  o'  the  doc- 
trines wud  hae  tae  be  reformed,"  and  Jamie  de- 
parted, full  of  condolence  with  Milton. 

It  was  not  wonderful  after  these  trying  ex- 
periences that  Milton  became  a  separatist,  and 
edified  himself  and  his  household  in  his  kitchen. 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION  331 

Perhaps  the  Glen  might  also  be  excused  on 
their  part  for  taking  a  somewhat  severe  view  of 
this  schismatic  proceeding  and  being  greatly 
stirred  by  a  sermon  of  the  doctor's — prepared 
especially  for  the  occasion — in  which  the  sin  of 
Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram  was  powerfully 
expounded,  and  Milton's  corn  room  described 
as  a  "  Plymouthistic  hut." 

"  Ma  certes,"  said  Hillocks  to  Jamie  on  the 
way  home,  "  the  doctor's  roosed.  Yon  wes  an 
awfu'  name  he  cam  oot  wi'  ;  it  's  no  verra 
cannie  tae  hae  onything  tae  dae  wi'  thae 
preachin',  paitterin'  craturs." 

"There  wes  a  sough  through  the  pairish. 
Hillocks,  that  ye  were  ower  by  sittin'  in  the 
cauf-hoose  (chaff-house)  yersel  laist  week,  an' 
that  ye  were  extraordinar'  ta'en  up  wi'  Milton. 
Elspeth  Macfadyen  wes  threipin'  (insisting) 
that  you  an'  Milton  were  thinkin'  o'  starting  a 
new  kirk.  Miltonites  wud  be  a  graund  name  ; 
a'  dinna  think  it  's  been  used  yet." 

"  Elspeth's  tongue 's  nae  scannel."  Hil- 
locks's  curiosity  had  led  him  astray,  and  he 
was  now  much  ashamed.  "A'  juist  lookit  in 
ae  forenicht  tae  see  what  kin  o'  collie-shangie 
Milton    wes   cairryin'    on,   an'   a'    wes  fair  dis- 


332  MILTON'S    CONVERSION 

gustit.  He  ran  the  hale  time  frae  Daniel  tae 
the  Rev^elations,  an'  it  wes  a'  aboot  beasts  frae 
beginnin'  tae  end.  A  rammelin'  idiot,  nae- 
thin'  else,"  and  Hillocks  offered  up  Milton  as  a 
sacrifice  to  the  indignation  of  the  Glen. 

Shortly  afterwards  Hillocks  began  to  make 
dark  allusions  that  excited  a  distinct  interest,  and 
invested  his  conversation  with  a  piquant  flavour. 

"  It  wes  an  ill  day  when  his  lordship  lat  yon 
man  intae  the  pairish,"  and  he  shook  his  head 
with  an  air  of  gloomy  mystery.  "  A'  wush  a' 
saw  him  oot  o  't  withoot  mischief.  Gor  fouk 
hev  been  wcel  brocht  up,  an'  they  're  no  what 
ye  wud  ca'  simple,  but  there 's  nae  sayin'  ; 
weemen  are  easily  carried." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Jamie  encouragingly. 

"A'm  telt,"  continued  Hillocks,  "that  the 
wratches  are  that  cunnin'  an'  plausible  they 
wud  wile  a  bird  aff  a  tree  ;  they  got  intae  a 
pairish  in  the  Carse,  and  afore  the  year  wes  oot 
gin  they  didna  whup  aff  three  servant  lassies 
tae  Ameriky." 

"  Div  ye  mean  tae  say  that  Milton  .  .  ."  and 
the  fathers  noticed  how  Jamie  was  guiding 
Hillocks  to  his  point. 

"Ye've  said  the  word,  Jamie,  an'  it's  a  gey 


MILTON'S    CONVERSION  33:^ 

like  business  for  Drumtochty,"  and  it  was 
known  in  twenty-four  hours  up  as  far  as  Glen 
Urtach  that  Hillocks  had  hunted  Milton's  re- 
ligion to  earth,  and  found  him  out  to  be  a 
Morman. 

This  was  considered  one  of  Jamie's  most 
successful  efforts,  and  the  Glen  derived  so 
much  pure  delight  from  the  very  sight  of  Mil- 
ton for  some  weeks  that  he  might  have  become 
popular  had  it  not  been  for  an  amazing  com- 
bination of  qualities. 

"  His  tracts  are  irritatin',  an'  no  what  we  've 
been  accustomed  tae  in  Drumtochty  " — Drums- 
heugh  was  giving  judgment  in  the  kirkyard — 
"  but  a'  cud  thole  them.  What  a'  canna  pit  up 
wi'  is  his  whinin'  an'  leein'.  A'  never  heard  as 
muckle  aboot  conscience  an'  never  saw  sae  little 
o  't  in  this  pairish." 

It  was  a  tribute  in  its  way  to  Milton  that  he 
alone  of  all  men  aroused  the  dislike  of  the 
kindest  of  parishes,  so  that  men  f^ed  from  be- 
fore his  face.  Hillocks,  who  was  never  happy 
unless  he  had  two  extra  on  his  dogcart,  and 
unto  that  end  only  drew  the  line  at  tramps, 
would  pass  with  a  bare  compliment  on  board, 
and  drop  the  scantiest  salutation. 


334  MILTON'S   CONVERSION 

"  Hoo  are  ye  the  day,  Milton  ?  a'  doot  it 's 
threatenin'  a  shoor." 

Drumsheugh  had  been  known  to  disappear 
into  a  potato  field  at  Milton's  approach,  under 
pretence  of  examining  the  tubers,  while  Burn- 
brae,  who  was  incarnate  charity,  and  preju- 
diced in  favour  of  anything  calling  itself 
religion,  abandoned  this  "  professor"  in  regret- 
ful silence.  Drumtochty  was  careful  not  to 
seat  themselves  in  the  third  until  Milton  had 
taken  his  place,  when  they  chose  another  com- 
partment, until  at  last  Peter  used  to  put  in 
this  superior  man  with  Kildrummie  to  avoid 
delay.  It  was  long  before  Milton  realised  that 
Drumtochty  did  not  consider  his  company  a 
privilege,  and  then  he  was  much  lifted,  seeing 
clearly  the  working  of  conscience  in  a  be- 
nighted district. 

"  Milton  lies  been  giein'  oot  in  Muirtown 
that  he 's  thankfu'  he  wes  sent  tae  Drum- 
tochty," Jamie  announced  one  Sabbath,  with 
chastened  delight,  "  an'  that  his  example  wes 
affectin'  us  already.  *  They  daurna  face  me  in 
the  verra  train,'  says  he  tae  Tammas  Bisset  ; 
'  it 's  the  first  time  yon  fouk  ever  came  across 
a  speeritual  man.     They're  beginnin'  tae  revile, 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION  335 

an'  we  ken  what  that  means  ;  a'  never  thocht 
a'  wud  hae  the  honour  of  persecution  for 
righteousness'  sake.'  That  's  his  ain  mind 
on't,  an'  it  's  a  comfort  tae  think  that  Milton's 
contented." 

"A've  kent  ane  or  twa  fair  leears  in  ma 
time,"  reflected  Hillocks,  "  but  for  a  bare- 
face " 

"Persecuted  is  a  lairge  word,"  broke  in 
Drumsheugh,  "ay,  an'  a  graund  tae,  an'  no  fit 
for  Milton's  mooth.  Gin  he  named  it  tae  me, 
a  'd  teach  him  anither  story.  A  foumart  (pole 
cat)  micht  as  weel  speak  o'  persecution  when 
he  's  hunted  aff  the  hillside. 

"  Na,  na,"  and  Drumsheugh  set  himself  to 
state  the  case  once  for  all,  "  we  've  oor  faults 
maybe  in  Drumtochty,"  going  as  far  by  way  of 
concession  as  could  be  expected,  "  but  we  're 
no  juist  born  fules ;  we  've  as  muckle  sense  as 
the  chuckles,  'at  ken  the  differ  atween  corn  an' 
chaff  wi'  a  luke." 

Jamie  indicated  by  a  nod  that  Drumsheugh 
was  on  the  track. 

"  Noo  there's  ane  o'  oor  neeburs,"  proceed- 
ing to  illustration,  "  'at  lectures  against  drink 
frae  ae    new   year   tae   anither.     He 's   a   true 


336  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 

man,  an'  he  luves  the  Glen,  an'  naebody  'ill  say 
an  ill  word  o'  Airchie  Moncur — no  in  this  kirk- 
yaird  at  ony  rate." 

"A  fine  bit  craiturie,"  interjected  Hillocks, 
whom  Archie  had  often  besought  in  vain  to 
take  the  pledge  for  example's  sake,  being  an 
elder. 

"  Weel,"  resumed  Drumsheugh,  "there's 
anither  neebur,  an'  a  'm  telt  that  his  prayer  is 
little  ahint  the  minister's  at  the  Free  Kirk 
meetin's,  and  a'  believe  it,  for  a  gude  life  is 
bund  tae  yield  a  good  prayer.  Is  there  a  man 
here  that  wudna  be  gled  tae  stand  wi'  Burnbrae 
in  the  Jidgment  ?" 

"  A'm  intendin'  tae  keep  as  close  as  a'  can 
masel,"  said  Jamie,  and  there  was  a  general 
feeling  that  it  would  be  a  wise  line. 

"  It 's  no  Milton's  preachin'  Drumtochty 
disna  like,  but  his  leein',  an'  that  Drumtochty 
canna  abide.  Nae  man,"  summed  up  Drums 
heugh,  "  hes  ony  richt  tae  speak  aboot  re- 
leegion  ye  canna  trust  in  the  market." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Milton  counted 
Drumtochty  as  an  outcast  place,  because  they 
did  not  speak  about  the  affairs  of  the  hfe  to 
come,  and  Drumtochty  would  have  nothing  to 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION  337 

do  with  Milton,  because  he  was  not  straight  in 
the  affairs  of  the  Hfe  which  now  is.  Milton 
might  have  gone  down  to  the  grave  condemn- 
ing and  condemned  had  it  not  been  for  his 
sore  sickness,  v/hich  brought  him  to  the  dust  of 
death,  and  afforded  Drumsheugh  the  opportu- 
nity for  his  most  beneficent  achievement. 

"They  think  he  may  come  roond  wi'  care," 
reported  Drumsheugh,  "  but  he  'ill  be  wakely 
for  twa  month,  an'  he 'ill  never  be  the  same 
man  again ;  it's  been  a  terrible  whup."  But 
the  kirkyard,  for  the  first  time  in  such  circum- 
stances, was  not  sympathetic. 

"  It 's  a  mercy  he 's  no  been  taken  awa," 
responded  Hillocks,  after  a  distinct  pause,  "  an' 
it  'ill  maybe  be  a  warnin*  tae  him  ;  he  's  no  been 
unco  freendly  sin  he  cam  intae  the  Glen,  either 
wi'  his  tongue  or  his  hands." 

"A'm  no  sayin'  he  hes.  Hillocks,  but  it's  no 
a  time  tae  cuist  up  a  man's  fauts  when  he  's  in 
tribble,  an'  it 's  no  the  wy  we  've  hed  in  Drum- 
tochty.  Milton 's  no  fit  tae  meddle  wi'  ony- 
body  noo,  nor,  for  that  maitter,  tae  manage  his 
ain  business.  There  's  no  mair  than  twa  acre 
seen  the  ploo ;  a  'm  dootin'  the  '11  be  a  puir 
sowin'  time  next  spring  at  Milton." 


338  MILTON'S   CONVERSION 

"Gin  he  hedna  been  sic  a  creetical  an'  ill- 
tongued  body  the  Glen  wud  sune  hae  cleared 
up  his  stubble ;  div  ye  mind  when  Netherton 
lost  his  horses  wi'  the  glanders,  an'  we  jined  an' 
did  his  plooin' ?  it  wes  a  wise-like  day's  wark." 

"  Yir  hert 's  in  the  richt  place,"  said  Drums- 
heugh,  ignoring  qualifications;  ''we'll  baud  a 
plooin'  match  at  Milton,  an'  gie  the  cratur  a 
helpin'  hand.  A  'm  willin'  tae  stand  ae  prize, 
an'  Burnbrae  'ill  no  be  behind ;  a'  wudna  say 
but  Hillocks  himsel  micht  come  oot  wi'  a  five 
shillin'  bit." 

They  helped  Milton  out  of  bed  next  Thurs- 
day, and  he  sat  in  silence  at  a  gable  window 
that  commanded  the  bare  fields.  Twenty 
ploughs  were  cutting  the  stubble  into  brown 
ridges,  and  the  crows  followed  the  men  as  they 
guided  the  shares  with  stiff  resisting  body, 
while  Drumsheugh  could  be  seen  going  from 
field  to  field  with  authority. 

"What's  this  for?"  inquired  Milton  at 
length ;  "  naebody  askit  them,  an'  .  .  .  them 
an'  me  hevna  been  pack  (friendly)  thae  laist 
twa  years." 

"  It 's  a  love-darg,"  said  his  wife,  "  because 
ye've  been  sober  (ill),  they  juist  want  to  show 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION  339 

kindness,  bein'  oor  neeburs.  Drumsheugh,  a' 
hear,  set  it  agaein',  but  there  's  no  a  fairmer  in 
the  Glen  hesna  a  hand  in  't  wi'  horses  or  sic- 
Hke." 

Milton  made  no  remark,  but  he  was  think- 
ing, and  an  hour  before  midday  he  called  for 
his  wife. 

"  It  's  rael  gude  o'  them,  an',  wumman,  it 's 
mair  than  ...  a'  wud  hae  dune  for  them. 
An',  Eesie,  .  .  .  gither  a'thing  thegither  ye  can 
get,  and  gie  the  men  a  richt  dinner,  and  bid 
Jeemes  see  that  every  horse  hes  a  feed  o'  corn 
...  a  full  ane ;  dinna  spare  onything  the 
day." 

It  was  a  point  of  honour  on  such  occasions 
that  food  for  man  and  beast  should  be  brought 
with  them,  so  that  there  be  no  charge  on  their 
neighbour,  but  Drumsheugh  was  none  the  less 
impressed  by  Milton's  generous  intentions. 
When  he  told  Hillocks,  who  was  acting  as  his 
aide-de-camp,  that  worthy  exclaimed,  "  Michty," 
and  both  Drumsheugh  and  Hillocks  realised 
that  a  work  of  grace  had  begun  in  Milton. 

He  refused  to  lie  down  till  the  men  and 
horses  went  out  again  to  work,  and  indeed  one 
could  not  see  in  its  own  way  a  more  heartening 


340  MILTON'S    CONVERSION 

sight.  Pair  by  pair  our  best  horses  passed,  each 
with  their  own  ploughman,  and  in  a  certain 
order,  beginning  with  Saunders,  Drumsheugh's 
foreman,  full  of  majesty  at  the  head  of  the 
parish,  and  concluding  with  the  pair  of  hardy 
little  beasts  that  worked  the  uplands  of  Bog- 
leigh.  A  fortnight  had  been  spent  on  prepara- 
tion, till  every  scrap  of  brass  on  the  high-peaked 
collars  and  bridles  glittered  in  the  sunlight,  and 
the  coats  of  the  horses  were  soft  and  shiny. 
The  tramp  of  the  horses'  feet  and  the  rattle  of 
the  plough  chains  rang  out  in  the  cold  Novem- 
ber air,  which  had  just  that  touch  of  frost  which 
makes  the  ground  crisp  for  the  ploughshare. 
The  men  upon  the  horses  were  the  pick  of  the 
Glen  for  strength,  and  carried  themselves  with 
the  air  of  those  who  had  come  to  do  a  work. 
Drumsheugh  was  judge,  and  Saunders  being 
therefore  disqualified,  the  first  prize  went  to 
young  Burnbrae,  the  second  to  Netherton's 
man,  and  the  third  to  Tammas  Mitchell— who 
got  seven  and  sixpence  from  Hillocks,  and 
bought  a  shawl  for  Annie  next  Friday. 
Drumsheugh  declared  it  was  rig  for  rig  the 
cleanest,  quickest,  straightest  work  he  had 
seen    in    Drumtochty,  and    when    the    ploughs 


MILTON'S    CONVERSION  341 

ceased  there  was  not  a  yard  of  oat  stubble  left 
on  Milton. 

After  the  last  horse  had  left  and  the  farm 
was  quiet  again — no  sign  of  the  day  save  the 
squares  of  fresh  brown  earth — Drumsheugh 
went  in  alone — he  had  never  before  crossed 
the  door — to  inquire  for  Milton  and  carry  the 
goodwill  of  the  Glen.  Milton  had  prided  him- 
self on  his  fluency,  and  had  often  amazed  relig- 
ious meetings,  but  now  there  was  nothing  au- 
dible but  "  gratefu'  "  and  "  humbled,"  and 
Drumsheugh  set  himself  to  relieve  the  situation. 

"  Dinna  mak  sae  muckle  o  't,  man,  as  if  we 
hed  worked  yir  fairm  for  a  year  an'  savit  ye 
frae  beggary.  We  kent  ye  didna  need  oor 
help,  but  we  juist  wantit  tae  be  neeburly  an' 
gie  ye  a  lift  tae  health. 

"  A'body  is  pleased  ye  're  on  the  mend,  and 
there  's  no  ane  o  's  that  wudna  be  prood  tae  dae 
ony  troke  for  ye  till  ye  're  able  tae  manage  for 
yersel ;  a  '11  come  roond  masel  aince  a  week  an 
gie  a  look  ower  the  place."  Milton  said  not 
one  word  as  Drumsheugh  rose  to  go,  but  the 
grip  of  the  white  hand  that  shot  out  from  be- 
low the  bed-clothes  was  not  unworthy  of  Drum- 
tochty. 


342  MILTON'S   CONVERSION 

"  Ye  said,  Hillocks,  that  Milton  wes  a  graund 
speaker,"  said  Drumsheugh  next  Sabbath,  "  an' 
a'  wes  expectin'  somethin'  by  ordinar  on 
Thursday  nicht,  but  he  hedna  sax  words,  an' 
ilka  ane  wes  separate  frae  the  ither.  A  'm 
judgin'  that  it 's  easy  tae  speak  frae  the  lips, 
but  the  words  come  slow  and  sair  frae  the  hert, 
an'  Milton  hes  a  hert ;  there  's  nae  doot  o'  that 
noo." 

On  the  first  Sabbath  of  the  year  the  people 
were  in  the  second  verse  of  the  Hundredth 
Psalm,  when  Milton,  with  his  family,  came  into 
the  kirk  and  took  possession  of  their  pew. 
Hillocks  maintained  an  unobtrusive  but  vigilant 
watch,  and  had  no  fault  to  find  this  time  with 
Milton.  The  doctor  preached  on  the  Law  of 
Love,  as  he  had  a  way  of  doing  at  the  begin- 
ning of  each  year,  and  was  quite  unguarded  in 
his  eulogium  of  brotherly  kindness,  but  Milton 
did  not  seem  to  find  anything  wrong  in  the 
sermon.  Four  times — Hillocks  kept  close  to 
facts — he  nodded  in  grave  approval,  and  once, 
when  the  doctor  insisted  with  great  force  that 
love  did  more  than  every  power  to  make  men 
good,  Milton  was  evidently  carried,  and  blew 
his  nose  needlessly.     Hillocks  affirmed  stoutly 


MILTON'S   CONVERSION  343 

that  the  crumpled  pound  note  found  in  the  re- 
cesses of  the  ladle  that  day  came  from  Milton, 
and  corroborative  evidence  accumulated  in  a 
handsome  gown  sent  to  Saunders'  wife  for  the 
lead  he  gave  the  ploughs  that  famous  day,  and 
a  box  of  tea,  enough  to  last  her  time,  received 
by  blind  old  Barbara  Stewart.  Milton  was 
another  man,  and  when  he  appeared  once  more 
at  the  station  and  went  into  a  compartment 
left  to  Kildrummie,  Drumsheugh  rescued  him 
with  a  show  of  violence  and  brought  him  into 
the  midst  of  Drumtochty,  who  offered  him  ex- 
actly six  different  boxes  on  the  way  to  the 
Junction,  and  reviewed  the  crops  on  Milton  for 
the  last  two  years  in  a  distinctly  conciliatory 
spirit. 

Milton  fought  his  battle  well,  and  only  once 
alluded  to  the  past. 

"  It  wes  ma  misfortune,"  he  said  to  Drums- 
heugh, as  they  went  home  from  kirk  together, 
"  tae  mix  wi'  fouk  that  coonted  words  mair 
than  deeds,  an'  were  prooder  tae  open  a  proph- 
ecy than  tae  dae  the  wuU  o'  God. 

"  We  thocht  that  oor  knowledge  wes  deeper 
an'  oor  Hfe  better  than  oor  neeburs',  an'  a  've 
been  sairly  punished.     Gin  a'  hed  been  bred  in 


344  MILTON'S   CONVERSION 

Drumtochty,  a'  micht  never  hae  been  a  by- 
word, but  a*  thank  God  that  ma  laist  years  'ill 
be  spent  amang  true  men,  an',  Drumsheugh, 
a  'm  prayin'  that  afore  a'  dee  a'  also  may  be  .  .  . 
a  richt  man." 

This  was  how  Drumsheugh  found  Milton 
walking  in  crooked  paths  and  brought  him  into 
the  way  of  righteousness,  and  Milton  carried 
himself  so  well  afterwards  that  Drumsheugh 
had  only  one  regret,  and  that  was  that  Jamie 
Soutar  had  not  lived  to  see  that  even  in  Milton 
there  was  the  making  of  a  man. 


OOR   LANG   HAME 


OOR  LANG  HAME 

Peter  Bruce  was  puzzled  by  a  passenger  who 
travelled  from  the  Junction  on  a  late  October 
day,  and  spoke  with  a  mixed  accent.  He  would 
not  be  more  than  forty  years  of  age,  but  his 
hair  was  grey,  and  his  face  bore  the  marks  of 
unchangeable  sorrow.  Although  he  was  not  a 
working  man,  his  clothes  were  brushed  to  the 
bone,  and  his  bag  could  not  contain  many  lux- 
uries. There  was  not  any  doubt  about  his  class, 
yet  he  did  not  seem  willing  to  enter  the  third, 
but  wandered  up  and  down  the  train,  as  if  look- 
ing for  a  lost  carriage.  As  he  passed  beyond 
the  van  he  appeared  to  have  found  what  he  was 
seeking,  and  Peter  came  upon  him  examining 
the  old  Kildrummie  third,  wherein  Jamie  Sou- 
tar  had  so  often  held  forth,  and  which  was  now 
planted  down  on  the  side  of  the  line  as  a  store- 
house for  tools  and  lamps.  The  stranger  walked 
round  the  forlorn   remains  and  peered  in  at  a 


348  OOR    LANG    HAME 

window,  as  if  to  see  the  place  where  he  or  some 
one  else  he  knew  had  sat. 

"Ye  ken  the  auld  third,"  said  Peter,  anx- 
ious to  give  a  lead  ;  "  it 's  been  aff  the  rails  for 
mair  than  twal  years;  it  gies  me  a  turn  at 
times  tae  see  it  sittin'  there  like  a  freend  that 's 
fa'en  back  in  the  warld." 

As  the  stranger  gave  no  sign,  Peter  attached 
himself  to  his  door — under  pretext  of  collecting 
the  tickets — and  dealt  skilfully  with  the  mys- 
tery. He  went  over  the  improvements  in  Kil- 
drummie,  enlarging  on  the  new  U.  P.  kirk  and 
the  extension  of  the  Gasworks.  When  these 
stirring  tales  produced  no  effect,  the  conclusion 
was  plain. 

"  It 's  a  fell  step  tae  Drumtochty,  an'  ye  '11  be 
the  better  o'  the  dogcairt.  Sandie  *s  still  tae 
the  fore,  though  he  's  failin'  like  's  a' ;  wuU  a' 
tell  the  engine  driver  tae  whustle  for 't  ?  " 

"  No,  I  '11  walk  ,  .  .  better  folk  than  I  have 
tramped  that  road  .  .  .  with  loads,  too."  And 
then,  as  he  left  the  station,  the  unknown  said,  as 
if  recollecting  his  native  tongue,  "  Gude  day, 
Peter  ;  it  is  a  comfort  tae  sae  ae  kent  face  aifter 
mony  changes." 

Something  hindered  the  question  on  Peter's 


OOR  LANG  HAMt;  349 

lips,  but  he  watched  the  slender  figure — which 
seemed  bent  with  an  invisible  burden — till  it 
disappeared,  and  then  the  old  man  shook  his 
head. 

"  It  beats  me  tae  pit  a  name  on  him,  an' 
he  didna  want  tae  be  askit ;  but  whaever  he 
ma}'  be,  he  's  sair  stricken.  Yon  's  the  saddest 
face  'at  hes  come  up  frae  the  Junction  sin  a' 
hoddit  Flora  Campbell  in  the  second.  An' 
a  'm  judgin'  he  'ill  be  waur  tae  comfort." 

The  road  to  Drumtochty,  after  it  had  thrown 
off  Kildrummie,  climbed  a  hill,  and  passed 
through  an  open  country  till  it  plunged  into 
tha  pine  woods.  The  wind  was  fresh,  blowing 
down  from  the  Grampians,  wath  a  suggestion 
of  frost,  and  the  ground  was  firm  underfoot. 
The  pungent  scent  of  ripe  turnips  was  in  the 
air,  mingled,  as  one  passed  a  stackyard,  with 
the  smell  of  the  newly  gathered  grain,  whose 
scattered  remains  clung  to  the  hedges.  As  the 
lonely  man  passed  one  homestead,  a  tramp  was 
leaving  the  door,  pursued  with  contempt. 

"  Awa  wi'  ye,  or  a '11  louse  the  dog,"  an 
honest  woman  was  saying.  "  Gin  ye  were  a 
puir  helpless  body  a  'd  gie  ye  meat  an'  drink, 
but   an    able-bodied    man  sud  be  ashamed  tae 


350  OOR  LANG  HAME 

beg.  Hae  ye  nae  speerit  that  ye  wud  hang 
upon  ither  fouk  for  yir  Hvnn'  ?" 

The  vagabond  only  bent  his  head  and  went 
on  his  way,  but  so  keen  was  the  housewife's 
tongue  that  it  brought  a  faint  flush  of  shame  to 
his  cheek.  As  soon  as  she  had  gone  in  again, 
and  the  two  men  were  alone  on  the  road,  the 
one  with  the  sad  face  gave  some  silver  to  the 
outcast. 

"  Don't  thank  me — begin  again  somewhere 
.  .  .  I  was  a  tramp  myself  once,"  and  he 
hurried  on  as  one  haunted  by  the  past. 

His  pace  slackened  as  he  entered  the  pines, 
and  the  kindly  shelter  and  the  sweet  fragrance 
seemed  to  give  him  peace.  In  the  centre  of 
the  wood  there  was  an  open  space,  with  a  pool 
and  a  clump  of  gorse.  He  sat  down  and  rested 
his  head  on  his  hands  for  a  while  ;  then  he 
took  two  letters  out  of  his  pocket  that  were 
almost  worn  away  with  handling,  and  this  was 
the  first  he  read  : 

*'  Ye  mind  that  the  laist  time  we  met  wes  in 
Drumtochty  kirkyaird,  an'  that  I  said  hard 
things  tae  ye  aboot  yir  laziness  and  yir  con- 
duct tae  yir  grandmither.  Weel,  a  'm  sorry  for 
ma  words  this  day,  no  that  they  werena  true, 


OOR   LANG    HAME  351 

for  ye  ken  they  were,  but  because  a  *ve  tae 
send  waesome  news  tae  ye,  an'  a'  wush  a 
kinder  man  hed  been  the  writer. 

"Ye  ken  that  yir  sister  Lily  gaed  up  tae 
London  an'  took  a  place.  Weel,  she  hes 
served  wi'  sic  faithfulness  that  she  'ill  no  be 
here  tae  welcome  ye  gin  ye  come  back  again. 
A'  happened  tae  be  in  London  at  the  time,  and 
wes  wi'  Lily  when  she  slippit  awa,  an'  she 
bade  me  tell  ye  no  tae  lose  hert,  for  ae  body  at 
least  believed  in  ye,  an'  wes  expeck  in'  ye  tae 
turn  oot  weel, 

"  A'  wush  that  were  a',  for  it 's  eneuch  for 
ye  tae  bear,  gin  ye  be  a  man  an'  hae  a  memory. 
But  tribbles  aye  rin  in  pairs.  Yir  grandmither 
kept  up  till  the  beerial  wes  ower,  an'  then  she 
took  tae  her  bed  for  a  week.  '  A  '11  never  be 
up  again,'  she  said  tae  me,  '  an'  a  '11  no  be  lang 
here.'  We  laid  her  aside  Lily,  an'  she  sent 
the  same  word  tae  ye  wi'  her  last  breath : 
'  Tell  Chairlie  a'  wes  thinkin'  aboot  him  till  the 
end,  an'  that  a  'm  sure  ma  lassie's  bairn  'ill 
come  richt  some  day.' 

"  This  letter  'ill  gie  ye  a  sair  hert  for  mony  a 
day,  but  ye  wull  coont  the  sairness  a  blessing 
an'  no  an  ill.     Never  lat  it  slip  frae  yir  mind 


352  OOR    LANG    HAME 

that  tvva  true  weemen  loved  ye  an'  prayed  for 

ye  till    the  laist,  deein'    \vV  yir  name  on  their 

lips.     Ye  'ill  be  a  man  yet,  Chairlie. 

"  Dinna  answer  this  letter — answer  yon  fond 

herts  that  luve  an'  pray  for  ye.     Gin  ye  be  ever 

in    tribble,    lat    me   ken.      A'   wes   yir   grand- 

mither's  freend    and    Lily's    freend ;    sae   lang 

as  a  'm    here,  coont    me   yir   freend    for   their 

sake, 

James  Soutar." 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  he  read  the  second 
letter. 

"  Dear  Chairlie, — A  'm  verra  sober  noo, 
an'  canna  rise  ;  but  gin  ony  medeecine  cud  hae 
cured  me,  it  wud  hae  been  yir  letter.  A'  thae 
years  a've  been  sure  ye  were  fechtin'  yir  battle, 
an'  that  some  day  news  wud  come  o'  yir 
victory. 

"  Man,  ye  've  dune  weel — a  pairtner,  wi'  a 
hoose  o'  yir  ain,  an'  sic  an  income.  Ye  aye 
hed  brains,  an'  noo  ye  've  turned  them  tae 
accoont.  A'  withdraw  every  word  a'  ca'd  ye, 
for  ye  're  an  honour  noo  tae  Drumtochty.  Gin 
they  hed  only  been  spared  tae  ken  o'  yir 
success ! 


OOR    LANG   HAME  353 

"  A  've  divided  the  money  amang  yir  sisters 
in  Muirtown,  and  Doctor  Davidson  'ill  pit  the 
lave  intae  a  fund  tae  help  puir  laddies  wi'  their 
education.  Yir  name  'ill  never  appear,  but 
a  'm  prood  tae  think  o'  yir  leeberality,  and 
mony  will  bless  ye.  Afore  this  reaches  ye  in 
America  a  '11  be  awa,  and  ithers  roond  me  are 
near  their  lang  hame.  Ye  'ill  maybe  tak  a 
thocht  o'  veesiting  the  Glen  some  day,  but 
a'  doot  the  neeburs  that  githered  in  the  kirkyaird 
'ill  no  be  here  tae  wush  ye  weel,  as  a'  dae  this 
day,  A  'm  glad  a'  lived  tae  get  yir  letter. 
God  be  wi'  ye. 

James  Soutar." 

The  letter  dropped  from  his  hand,  and  the 
exile  looked  into  the  far  distance  with  some- 
thing between  a  smile  and  a  tear. 

"  They  were  gude  men  'at  githered  ablovv 
the  beech-tree  in  the  kirkyaird  on  a  Sabbath 
mornin',"  he  said  aloud,  and  the  nevv^  accent 
had  now  lost  itself  altogether  in  an  older 
tongue  ;  "  and  there  wesna  a  truer  hert  amang 
them  a'  than  Jamie.  Gin  he  hed  been  spared 
tae  gie  me  a  shak  o'  his  hand,  a'  wud  hae  been 
comforted  ;  an'  aifter  him   a'  wud   like  a  word 


354  OOR   LANG   HAME 

frae  Drumsheugh.  A'  wunner  gin  he  be  still 
tae  the  fore. 

"  Na,  na,"  and  his  head  fell  on  his  chest, 
"it's  no  possible;  o'  a'  the  generation  'at  con- 
demned me,  no  ane  'ill  be  leevin'  tae  say  for- 
given. But  a'  cudna  hae  come  hame  suner — 
till  a'  hed  redeemed  masel." 

He  caught  the  sound  of  a  cart  from  the  Glen, 
and  a  sudden  fear  overcame  him  at  the  meet- 
of  the  first  Drumtochty  man.  His  first  move- 
ment was  to  the  shelter  of  the  wood  ;  then  he 
lay  down  behind  the  gorse  and  watched  the 
bend  of  the  road.  It  was  a  double  cart,  laden 
with  potatoes  for  Kildrummie  station,  and  the 
very  horses  had  a  homely  look ;  while  the 
driver  was  singing  in  a  deep,  mellow  voice, 
''  Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot."  The 
light  was  on  his  face,  and  the  wanderer  recog- 
nised him  at  once.  They  had  been  at  school 
together,  and  were  of  the  same  age,  but  there 
was  not  a  grey  hair  in  young  Burnbrae's  beard, 
nor  a  line  on  his  face. 

As  the  cart  passed,  Grant  watched  the  tram, 
and  marked  that  the  Christian  name  was  in 
fresh  paint. 

"  It 's  James,  no  John,  noo.     Burnbrae  hesna 


OOR   LANG   HAME  355 

feenished  his  lease,  an'  a 'm  thinkin'  Jean  'ill 
no  hae  lasted  long  aifter  him.  He  wes  a  gude 
man,  an'  he  hed  gude  sons." 

The  cart  was  a  mile  on  the  road,  and  Burn- 
brae's  song  had  long  died  into  silence  among 
the  pines,  before  Grant  rose  from  the  ground 
and  went  on  his  way. 

There  is  a  certain  point  where  the  road  from 
Kildrummie  disentangles  itself  from  the  wood, 
and  begins  the  descent  to  Tochty  Bridge. 
Drumtochty  exiles  used  to  stand  there  for  a 
space  and  rest  their  eyes  on  the  Glen  which 
they  could  now  see,  from  the  hills  that  made 
its  western  wall  to  the  woods  of  Tochty  that 
began  below  the  parish  kirk,  and  though  each 
man  might  not  be  able  to  detect  the  old  home, 
he  had  some  landmark — a  tree  or  a  rise  of  the 
hill — to  distinguish  the  spot  where  he  was  born, 
and  if  such  were  still  his  good  fortune,  where 
true  hearts  were  waiting  to  bid  him  welcome. 
Two  Drumtochty  students  returning  in  the 
spring  with  their  honours  might  talk  of  learned 
studies  and  resume  their  debates  coming 
through  the  wood,  but  as  the  trees  thinned 
conversation  languished,  and  then  the  lads 
would  go  over  to  the  style.     No  man  said  aught 


356  OOR   LANG    HAME 

unto  his  neighbour  as  they  drank  in  the  Glen, 
but  when  they  turned  and  went  down  the  hill, 
a  change  had  come  over  them. 

"  Man,  Dauvid,"  Ross  would  say — with  three 
medals  to  give  to  his  mother,  who  had  been  all 
day  making  ready  for  his  arrival,  and  was  al- 
ready watching  the  upland  road — "  far  or  near, 
ye  'ill  never  fin'  a  bonnier  burn  than  the  Tochty  ; 
see  yonder  the  glisk  o  't  through  the  bridge  as 
it  whummels  ower  the  stanes  and  shimmers  in 
the  evening  licht," 

"  An'  Hillocks's  haughs,"  cried  Baxter,  who 
was  supposed  to  think  in  Hebrew  and  had  won 
a  Fellowship  for  foreign  travel,  "  are  green  an' 
sweet  the  nicht,  wi'  the  bank  o'  birks  ahint 
them,  an'  a'  saw  the  hill  abune  yir  hame,  Jock, 
an'  it  wes  glistenin'  like  the  sea." 

Quite  suddenly,  at  the  sight  of  the  Glen,  and 
for  the  breath  of  it  in  their  lungs,  they  had  be- 
come Drumtochty  again,  to  the  names  they 
had  called  one  another  in  Domsie's  school,  and 
as  they  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  they 
raced  to  see  who  first  would  reach  the  crest  of 
the  ancient  bridge  that  might  have  been  Mar- 
shal Wade's  for  its  steepness,  and  then  were 
met  on  the  other  side  by  Hillocks,  who  gave 


OOR   LANG   HAME  357 

them  joyful  greeting  in  name  of  the  parish. 
But  not  even  Hillocks,  with  all  his  blandish- 
ments, could  wile  them  within  doors  that  even- 
ing. John  Ross  saw  his  mother  shading  her 
eyes  at  the  garden  gate  and  wearying  for  the 
sight  of  his  head  above  the  hill,  and  already 
David  Baxter  seemed  to  hear  his  father's  voice, 
'•  God  bless  ye,  laddie ;  welcome  hame,  and 
weel  dune."  For  the  choice  reward  of  a  true 
man's  work  is  not  the  applause  of  the  street, 
which  comes  and  goes,  but  the  pride  of  them 
that  love  him. 

What  might  have  been  so  came  upon  this 
emigrant  as  he  gazed  upon  the  Glen,  that  the 
driver  of  the  Kildrummie  bread  cart,  a  man 
quite  below  the  average  of  Drumtochty  intelli- 
gence, was  struck  by  the  hopelessness  of  his 
attitude,  and  refrained  from  a  remark  on  the 
completion  of  harvest  which  he  had  been  offer- 
ing freely  all  day.  They  Avere  threshing  at 
Hillocks's  farm  that  day,  and  across  the  river 
Grant  saw  the  pleasant  bustle  in  the  stackyard 
and  heard  the  hum  of  the  mill.  It  used  to  be 
believed  that  Hillocks  held  a  strategic  position 
of  such  commanding  power  that  no  one  had 
ever  crossed  that  bridge  without  his  supervision 


358  OOR   LANG   HAME 

— except  on  Friday  when  he  was  in  Muirtown — 
and  so  strong  was  the  wayfarer's  longing  for 
some  face  of  the  former  time,  that  he  loitered 
opposite  the  barn  door,  in  hopes  that  a  bat- 
tered hat,  dating  from  the  middle  of  the  cen- 
tury and  utilised  at  times  for  the  protection  of 
potatoes,  might  appear,  and  a  voice  be  heard, 
"  A  Ve  seen  a  waur  day,  ye  'ill  be  gaein'  up  the 
Glen,"  merely  as  a  preliminary  to  more  search- 
ing investigation  at  what  was  the  frontier  of 
Drumtochty.  Hillocks  also  must  be  dead,  and 
as  for  the  others,  they  were  too  busy  with  their 
work  to  give  any  heed  to  a  stranger.  A  gust 
of  wind  catching  up  the  chafT,  whirled  it  across 
the  yard  and  powdered  his  coat.  The  prodigal 
accepted  the  omen,  and  turned  himself  to  the 
hill  that  went  up  to  Mary's  cottage. 

He  had  planned  to  pass  the  place,  and  then 
from  the  footpath  to  the  kirkyard  to  have 
looked  down  on  the  home  of  his  boyhood,  but 
he  need  not  have  taken  precautions.  No  one 
was  there  to  question  or  recognise  him  ;  Mary's 
little  house  was  empty  and  forsaken.  The 
thatch  had  fallen  in  with  the  weight  of  winter 
snows,  the  garden  gate  was  lying  on  the  walk, 
the  scrap  of  ground  once  so  carefully  kept  was 


OOR   LANG   HAME  359 

overgrown  with  weeds.  Grant  opened  the  un- 
latched door — taking  off  his  hat — and  stood  in 
the  desolate  kitchen.  He  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  box-bed  no  one  had  thought  it 
worth  while  to  remove,  and  covered  his  face 
while  memory  awoke.  The  fire  again  burned 
on  the  hearth,  and  was  reflected  from  the  dishes 
on  the  opposite  wall  ;  the  table  was  spread  for 
supper,  and  he  saw  his  wooden  bicker  with  the 
black  horn  spoon  beside  it  ;  Mary  sat  in  her 
deep  old  armchair,  and  stirred  the  porridge 
sputtering  in  the  pot ;  a  rosy-cheeked  laddie 
curled  in  a  heap  at  his  grandmother's  feet  saw 
great  marvels  in  the  magic  firelight. 

"  Get  up,  Chairlie,  an'  we  'ill  tak  oor  supper, 
an'  then  ye  'ill  feenish  yir  lessons.  Domsie 
says  ye  hae  the  makin'  o'  a  scholar,  gin  ye  work 
hard  eneuch,  an'  a'  ken  ye  'ill  dae  that  for  yir 
auld  grannie's  sake  an'  yir  puir  mither's, 
wunna  ye,  ma  mannie  ? "  but  when  her  hand 
fell  on  his  head,  he  rose  suddenly  and  made 
for  the  other  room,  the  "ben  "  of  this  humble 
home. 

A  little  bit  of  carpet  on  the  floor ;  four  horse* 
hair  chairs,  one  with  David  and  Goliath  in 
crochet-work  on  its  back  ;  a  brass  fender  that 


36o  OOR   LANG   HAME 

had  often  revealed  to  Mary  the  secret  pride  of 
the  human  heart ;  shells  on  the  mantel-piece  in 
which  an  inland  laddie  could  hear  the  roar  of 
the  sea,  with  peacock's  feathers  also,  and  a 
spotted  china  dog  which  was  an  almost  speak- 
ing likeness  of  the  minister  of  Kildrummie  ;  a 
mahogany  chest  of  drawers — the  chairs  were 
only  birch,  but  we  can't  have  everything  in 
this  world — whereon  lay  the  Family  Bible  and 
the  Pilgritns  Progress  and  Rutherford's  Letters, 
besides  a  box  with  views  of  the  London  Exhi- 
bition that  were  an  endless  joy.  This  was  what 
rose  before  his  eyes,  in  that  empty  place. 
Within  the  drawers  were  kept  the  Sabbath 
clothes,  and  in  this  room  a  laddie  was  dressed 
for  kirk,  after  a  searching  and  remorseless 
scrubbing  in  the  "  but,"  and  here  he  must  sit 
motionless  till  it  was  time  to  start,  while  Mary, 
eivins  last  touches  to  the  fire  and  herself,  main- 
tained  a  running  exhortation,  "  Gin  ye  brak 
that  collar  or  rumple  yir  hair,  peety  ye,  the  'ill 
be  nae  peppermint-drop  for  you  in  the  sermon 
the  day."  Here  also  an  old  woman  whose 
hands  were  hard  with  work  opened  a  secret 
place  in  those  drawers,  and  gave  a  young  man 
whose  hands  were  white  her  last  penny. 


OOR    LANG    HAME  361 

"Ye  'ill  be  carefu',  Chairlie,  an'  a '11  try  tac 
send  ye  somethin'  till  ye  can  dae  for  yirsel,  an', 
laddie,  dinna  forget  .  .  .  yer  Bible  nor  yir 
hame,  for  we  expect  ye  tae  be  a  credit  tae  *s 
a'."     Have  mercy,  O  God ! 

Within  and  without  it  was  one  desolation — 
full  of  bitter  memories  and  silent  reproaches — 
save  in  one  corner,  where  a  hardy  rose-tree  had 
held  its  own,  and  had  opened  the  last  flower  of 
the  year.  With  a  tender,  thankful  heart,  the 
repentant  prodigal  plucked  its  whiteness,  and 
wrapped  it  in  Jamie's  letters. 

Our  kirkyard  was  on  a  height  facing  the 
south,  with  the  massy  Tochty  woods  on  one 
side  and  the  manse  on  the  other,  while  down 
below — a  meadow  between — the  river  ran,  so 
that  its  sound  could  just  be  heard  in  clear 
weather.  From  its  vantage  one  could  see  the 
Ochils  as  well  as  one  of  the  Lomonds,  and  was 
only  cut  off  from  the  Sidlaws  by  Tochty  woods. 
It  was  not  well  kept,  after  the  town's  fashion, 
having  no  walk,  save  the  broad  track  to  the 
kirk  door  and  a  narrower  one  to  the  manse 
garden ;  no  cypresses  or  weeping  willows  or 
beds  of  flowers — only  four  or  five  big  trees  had 
flung  their  kindly  shadow  for  generations  over 
AA 


362  OOR    LANG    HAME 

the  place  where  the  fathers  of  the  Glen  took 
their  long  rest ;  no  urns,  obelisks,  broken 
columns,  and  such-like  pagan  monuments,  but 
grey,  worn  stones,  some  lying  flat,  some  stand- 
ing on  end,  with  a  name  and  date,  and  two 
crosses,  one  to  George  Howe,  the  Glen's  lost 
scholar,  and  the  other  to  William  Maclure,  who 
had  loved  the  Glen  even  unto  death.  There  was 
also  a  marble  tablet  let  into  the  eastern  wall  of 
the  church,  where  the  first  ray  of  the  sun  fell, 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of 
Rev.  Alexander  Davidson,  D.D., 

for  fifty  years 
the  faithful  Minister  of  Drumtochty. 

Beside  the  beech-tree  where  the  fathers  used 
to  stand  were  two  stones.  The  newer  had  on 
it  simply  "  Lachlan^Campbell,"  for  it  was  Lach- 
lan's  wish  that  he  should  be  buried  with  Drum- 
tochty. "  They  are  good  people,  Flora,"  he 
said  the  day  he  died,  "and  they  dealt  kindly  by 
us  in  the  time  of  our  trouble."  But  the  older 
was  covered  with  names,  and  these  were  the 
last,  which  filled  up  the  space  and  left  no  space 
for  another : 


OOR   LANG   HAME  363 

Lily  Grant,  aged  23, 

a  servant  lass. 

Mary  Robertson,  aged  75. 

Charlie  knelt  on  the  turf  before  the  stone, 
and,  taking  off  his  hat,  prayed  God  his  sins 
might  be  forgiven,  and  that  one  day  he  might 
meet  the  trusting  hearts  that  had  not  despaired 
of  his  return. 

He  rose  uncomforted,  however,  and  stood 
beneath  the  beech,  where  Jamie  Soutar  had 
once  lashed  him  for  his  unmanliness.  Looking 
down,  he  saw  the  fields  swept  clean  of  grain  ; 
he  heard  the  sad  murmur  of  the  water,  that 
laughed  at  the  shortness  of  life ;  withered 
leaves  fell  at  his  feet,  and  the  October  sun 
faded  from  the  kirkyard.  A  chill  struck  to  his 
heart,  because  there  was  none  to  receive  his 
repentance,  none  to  stretch  out  to  him  a 
human  hand,  and  bid  him  go  in  peace. 

He  was  minded  to  creep  away  softly  and 
leave  Drumtochty  forever — his  heart  full  of  a 
vain  regret — when  he  found  there  was  another 
mourner  in  the  kirkyard.  An  old  man  was 
carefully  cleaning  the  letters  of  Maclure's  name, 
and  he  heard  him  saying  aloud  : 


364  OOR   LANG    HAME 

"  It  disna  maitter  though,  for  he  's  in  oor 
herts  an'  canna  be  forgotten.  Ye  've  hed  a 
gude  sleep,  Weelum,  an'  sair  ye  needed  it. 
Some  o  's  'ill  no  be  lang  o'  followin'  ye  noo." 

Then  he  went  over  to  Geordie's  grave  and 
read  a  fresh  inscription  : 

Margaret  Howe,  his  mother. 

"  They  're  thegither  noo,"  he  said  softly, 
"  an'  content.  O  Marget,  Marget,"  and  the 
voice  was  full  of  tears,  "  there  wes  nane  like 
ye." 

As  he  turned  to  go,  the  two  men  met,  and 
Grant  recognised  Drumsheugh. 

"  Gude  nicht,  Drumsheugh,"  he  said  ;  "  a'  ken 
yir  face,  though  ye  hae  forgotten  mine,  an'  nae 
doot  it 's  sair  changed  wi'  sin  and  sorrow." 

"Are  ye  Drumtochty  ? "  and  Drumsheugh 
examined  Charlie  closely;  "there  wes  a  day 
when  a'  cud  hae  pit  his  name  on  every  man 
that  cam  oot  o'  the  Glen  in  ma  time,  but  ma 
een  are  no  what  they  were,  an'  a  'm  failin'  fast 
masel." 

"  Ay,  a'  wes  born  an'  bred  in  Drumtochty, 
though  the  pairish  micht  weel  be  ashamed  o' 
ma  name.     A'  cam  tae  visit  ma  dead,   an'  a'm 


OOR   LANG   HAME  365 

gaein'  awa  for  gude.  Naebody  hes  seen  me 
but  yersel,  an'  a  '11  no  deny  a  'm  pleased  tae  get 
a  sicht  o'  yir  face." 

"Ye 're  no,"  and  then  Drumsheugh  held  out 
his  hand,  "  Chairlie  Grant.  Man,  a  'm  gled  a 
cam  intae  the  kirkyaird  this  day,  and  wes  here 
tae  meet  ye.  A'  bid  ye  welcome  for  the  Glen 
and  them  'at 's  gane." 

"A'm  no  worthy,  Drumsheugh,  either  o' 
them  'at 's  livin'  or  them  'at 's  dead,  but  Gude 
kens  a've  repentit,  an'  the  grip  o'  an  honest 
hand,  an'  maist  o'  a'  yir  ain,  'ill  gie  me  hert  for 
the  days  tae  come." 

"  Nane  o  's  is  worthy  o*  some  of  them  'at  's 
lyin'  here,  Chairlie,  naither  you  nor  me,  but  it 's 
no  them  'at  will  be  hardest  on  oor  fauts.  Na, 
na,  they  ken  an'  luve  ower  muckle,  an'  a  'm 
houpin'  that 's  sae  .  .  .  vvi'  the  Almichty. 

"  Man,  Chairlie,  it  did  me  gude  tae  hear  that 
ye  hed  played  the  man  in  Ameriky,  and  that 
ye  didna  forget  the  puir  laddies  o'  Drum- 
tochty.  Ay,  Jamie  telt  me  afore  he  deed,  an' 
prood  he  wes  aboot  ye.  '  Lily 's  gotten  her 
wish,'  he  said  ;  '  a'  kent  she  wud.' 

"  He  wes  sure  ye  wud  veesit  the  auld  Glen 
some  day,  an'   wes  feared  there  wudna   be   a 


^66  OCR   LANG   HAME 

freend  tae  gie  ye  a  word.  Ye  wes  tae  slip  avva 
tae  Muirtovvn  the  nicht  withoot  a  word,  an' 
nane  o  's  tae  ken  ye  hed  been  here  ?  Na,  na, 
gin  there  be  a  cauld  hearth  in  yir  auld  hame, 
there  's  a  warm  corner  in  ma  hoose  for  Lily's 
brither,"  and  so  they  went  home  together. 

When  they  arrived,  Saunders  was  finishing 
the  last  stack,  and  broke  suddenly  into  speech. 

"  Ye  thocht,  Drumsheugh,  we  would  never 
get  that  late  puckle  in,  but  here  it  is,  safe  and 
soond,  an'  a  '11  warrant  it  'ill  buke  (bulk)  as 
weel  as  ony  in  the  threshin'." 

"  Ye  're  richt,  Saunders,  and  a  bonnie  stack 
it  maks;"  and  then  Charlie  Grant  went  in  with 
Drumsheugh  to  the  warmth  and  the  kindly 
light,  while  the  darkness  fell  upon  the  empty 
harvest  field,  from  which  the  last  sheaf  had 
been  safely  garnered. 


UNIVERSITY   OF  CALIFORNIA   AT   LOS   ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


Form  L-9-20»)-8,'37 


I 


PR 

5742 

D33 


/Of 


^ 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  UBFV^RY  FACILITY 


AA    000  367  467 


